As Bob is not over studious, or attached to the Latin and Greek languages, he generally manages to get any difficult lesson construed by an agreement with some more learned and assiduous associate; the quid pro quo on these occasions being always punctually paid on his part by a humorous sketch of the head master calling first absence, taken from a snug, oblique view in the school-yard, or a burlesque on some of the fellows or inhabitants of Eton. In this way Bob contrives to pass school muster, although these specimens of talent have, on more than one occasion, brought him to the block. It must however ~41~~ be admitted, that in all these flights of fancy his pencil is never disgraced by any malignancy of motive, or the slightest exhibition of personal spleen. Good humour is his motto; pleasure his pursuit: and if he should not prove a Porson or an Elmsley, he gives every promise of being equally eminent with a Bunbury, Gillray, or a Rowlandson.

Varied groups are disposed around the room, and make up the back ground of my picture. Many of these are yet too young to particularize, and others have nothing sufficiently characteristic to deserve it; some who have not yet committed their first fault, and many who are continually in error; others who pursue the straight beaten track to scholastic knowledge, and trudge on like learned dromedaries. Two or three there are who follow in no sphere-eccentric stars, shooting from space to space; some few mischievous wags, who delight in a good joke, and will run the risk of punishment at any time to enjoy it; with here and there a little twinkling gem, like twilight planets, just emerging from the misty veil of nature.

These form my dame's dinner party. Reader, do not judge them harshly from this hasty sketch: take into your consideration their youth and inexperience; and if they do not improve upon acquaintance, and increase in estimation with their years, the fault must in justice rather be attributed to the author than to any deficiency in their respective merits.



~42~~



THE FIVE PRINCIPAL ORDERS OF ETON, DOCTOR, DAME, COLLEGER, OPPIDAN, AND CAD. A SKETCH TAKEN OPPOSITE THE LONG WALK.



ETON DAMES*; AN ODE, NEITHER AMATORY, ILL-NATURED, NOR PATHETIC.

Let Oxford beaux, to am'rous belles, Love's warm epistles write; Or Cambridge youths, in classic dells, Invoke the shadowy night.

* The above jeu-d'esprit made its appearance on one of those joyous occasions, when the sons of old Etona return from Oxford and Cambridge, filled with filial regard for early scenes and school-boy friendships, to commemorate a college election. It was, at the time, purposely attributed to some of these waggish visitors, a sort of privileged race, who never fail of indulging in numerous good-humoured freaks with the inhabitants of Eton, to show off to the rising generation the pleasantries, whims, and improvements of a college life. The subject is one of great delicacy, but it will, I hope, be admitted by the merry dames themselves, that my friend Bernard has in this, as in every other instance, endeavoured to preserve the strongest traits of truth and character, without indulging in offensive satire, or departing from propriety and decorum.—Horatio Heartly. ~44~~

Let Cockney poets boast their flames, Of ' Vicked Cupit' patter: Be mine a verse on Eton Dames— A more substantial matter. I care not if the Graces three Have here withheld perfection: Brown, black, or fair, the same to me,— E'en age is no objection. A pleasing squint, or but one eye, Will do as well as any; A mouth between a laugh and cry, Or wrinkled, as my granny. A hobbling gait, or a wooden leg, Or locks of silvery gray; Or name her Madge, or Poll, or Peg, She still shall have my lay. Perfection centres in the mind, The gen'rous must acknowledge: Then, Muse, be candid, just, and kind, To Dames of Eton College.*

* The independent students, commonly called Oppidans, are very numerous: they are boarded at private houses in the environs of the college; the presiding masters and mistresses of which have from time immemorial enjoyed the title of Domine and Dame: the average number of Oppidans is from three hundred to three hundred and fifty.



FIVE PRINCIPAL ORDERS OF ETON

~45~~

PROEM.

Said Truth to the Muse, as they wander'd along, "Prithee, Muse, spur your Pegasus into a song; Let the subject be lively,—how like you the Belles?" Said the Muse, "he's no sportsman that kisses and tells.

But in females delighting, suppose we stop here, And do you bid the Dames of old Eton appear; In your mirror their merits, with candour, survey, And I'll sing their worth in my very best Lay." No sooner 'twas said, than agreed:—it was done, Wing'd Mercury summon'd them every one.

MISS A***LO.

First, deck'd in the height of the fashion, a belle, An angel, ere Chronos had tipt her with snow, Advanced to the goddess, and said, "you may tell, That in Eton, there's no better table, you know;" And by Truth 'twas admitted, "her generous board Is rich, in whatever the seasons afford."

THE MISS t*****S.

Of ancients, a pair next presented themselves, When in popp'd some waggish Oxonian elves, Who spoke of times past, of short commons, and cheese, And told tales, which did much the old ladies displease. "Good morning," said Truth, as the dames pass'd him by: Young stomachs, if stinted, are sure to outcry.

MRS. R******U.

On her Domine leaning came dame B******u, The oldest in college, deck'd in rich furbelow.

~46~~

She curtsied around to the Oppidan band, But not one said a word, and but few gave a hand. Truth whisper'd the Muse,, who, as sly, shook her head, Saying, "where little's told, 'tis soon mended, it's said."

MRS. G******E.

When S******e appear'd, what a shout rent the air! The spruce widow affords the most excellent cheer; For comfort in quarters there's nothing can beat her, So up rose the lads with a welcome to greet her: The muse with true gallantry led her to place, And Truth said good humour was writ in her face.

MRS. D****N. With a face (once divine), and a figure still smart, And a grace that defies even Time's fatal dart, Dame D****n advanced, made her curtsy, and smiled: Truth welcomed the fair, the grave, witty, and wild; All, all gave their votes, and some said they knew That her numbers by no measure equall'd her due.

MISS S******S.

"By my hopes," said the Muse, "here's a rare jolly pair, A right merry frontispiece, comely and fair, To good living and quarters." "You're right," nodded Truth. A welcome approval was mark'd in each youth. And 'twas no little praise among numbers like theirs, To meet a unanimous welcome up stairs.

Miss L******d. Lavater, though sometimes in error, you'll find May be here quoted safely; the face tells the mind. Good humour and happiness live in her eye. Her motto's contentment you'll easily spy. five principal orders of eton

~47~~

A chair for Miss L******d Truth placed near the Muse; For beauty to rhyme can fresh spirit infuse.

MRS. V******Y.

V******y, in weeds led and angel along, Accomplish'd and pretty, who blush'd at the throng. The old dame seem'd to say, and i'faith she might well, "Sons of Eton, when saw you a handsomer belle?" If any intended the widow to sneer, Miss A———won their favor, and banish'd the jeer.

Three sisters, famed for various parts, One clerks, and one makes savoury tarts; While t'other, bless her dinner face, Cuts up the viands with a grace, Advanced, and met a cheerful greeting From all who glorify good eating.

MRS. W. H****R.

With a smile, a la confident, came Mrs. H, Whose Domine writing to Eton's sons teach: In college, the handiest man you can find For improvements of all sorts, both building and mind: He seem'd on good terms with himself, but the Muse Said, "the Dame claim'd a welcome which none could refuse."

DAME A****S.

Dame A****s, respected by all, made her way Through the throng that assembled at Eton that day. Old Chronos had wrinkled her forehead, 'tis true; Yet her countenance beam'd in a rich, mellow hue Of good humour and worth; 'twas a pleasure to mark How the dame was applauded by each Eton spark.

~48~~

MISS b*******K.

Long and loud were the plaudits the lady to cheer, Whom the doctor had treated somewhat cavalier: "Too young," said the ancient, "the proverb is trite; Age and wisdom, good doctor, not always unite." "For prudence and worth," said Truth, "I'll be bound She may challenge the Dames of old Eton around."

A crowd pressing forward, the day growing late, Truth whisper'd the Muse, "we had better retreat; For though 'mong the dames we are free from disasters, I know not how well we may fare with the masters. There's Carter, and Yonge, Knapp, Green, and Dupuis,* All coming this way with their ladies, I see. Our visit, you know, was alone to the belles; The masters may sing, if they please, of themselves. Truth mounted a cloud, and the Poet his nag, And these whims sent next day by the post-office bag.

* Lower, and assistant masters, who keep boarding-houses. Until lately this practice was not permitted; but it must be confessed that it is a salutary arrangement, as it not only tends to keep the youth in a better state of subjection, but in many instances is calculated to increase their progress in study, by enabling them to receive private instruction.



~50~~



ELECTION SATURDAY.

A Peep at the Long Chambers—The Banquet—Reflections on parting—Arrival of the Provost of King's College, Cambridge, and the Pozers—The Captain's Oration—Busy Monday—The Oppidan's Farewell—Examination and Election of the Collegers who stand for King's—The aquatic Gala and Fireworks—Oxonian Visitors—Night—Rambles in Eton— Transformations of Signs and Names—The Feast at the Christopher, with a View of THE OPPIDAN'S MUSEUM, AND ETON COURT OF CLAIMS.

Now from the schools pour forth a num'rous train, Light-hearted, buoyant as the summer breeze, To deck thy bosom, Eton: now each face Anticipation brightens with delight, While many a fancied bliss floats gaily O'er the ardent mind, chaste as the Nautilus, Spreading her pearly spangles to the sun: The joyous welcome of parental love, The heart-inspiring kiss a sister yields, A brother's greeting, and the cheering smiles Of relatives and friends, and aged domestics, Time-honor'd for their probity and zeal, Whose silvery locks recall to mem'ry's view Some playful scene of earliest childhood, When frolic, mirth, and gambol led the way, Ere reason gave sobriety of thought.- Now bear the busy Cads the new-lopt bough Of beech-tree to the dormitories, While active Collegers the foliage raise Against the chamber walls. A classic grove Springs as by magic art, cool and refreshing, A luxury by nature's self supply'd, Delicious shelter from the dog-star's ray. In thought profound the studious Sextile mark In learned converse with some ancient sage, Whose aid he seeks to meet the dread Provost. The captain fearless seeks the ancient stand, Where old Etona's sons, beneath time's altar-piece,* Have immemorial welcomed Granta's chief. In College-hall the merry cook prepares The choicest viands for the master's banquet: A graceful, healthy throng surround the board, And temp'rance, love, and harmony, prevail. Now busy dames are in high bustle caught, Preparing for each oppidan's departure; And servants, like wing'd Mercury, must fly O'er Windsor bridge to hail the London coach. Adieus on ev'ry side, farewell, farewell, Rings in each passing ear; yet, nor regret Nor sorrow marks the face, but all elate With cheerful tongue and brighten'd eye, unite To hail with joy Etona's holiday. Now comes the trial of who stands for King's, Examinations difficult and deep The Provost and his pozers to o'ercome. To this succeeds the grand aquatic gala, A spectacle of most imposing import, Where, robed in every costume of the world, The gay youth direct the glittering prow; A fleet of well-trimm'd barks upon the bosom Of old father Thames, glide on to pleasure's note:

~51~~

The expert victors are received with cheers, And the dark canopy of night's illumin'd With a grand display of brilliant fires.

* Shortly after the arrival of the Provost, he proceeds through the cloisters, where he is met by the captain, or head boy of the school, who speaks a long Latin oration before him, standing under the clock.

To an old Etonian the last week in July brings with it recollections of delight that time and circumstances can never wholly efface. If, beneath the broad umbrage of the refreshing grove, he seeks relief from care and sultry heat, memory recalls to his imagination the scenes of his boyhood, the ever pleasing recollections of infancy, when he reclined upon the flowery bosom of old father Thames, or sought amusement in the healthful exercise of bathing, or calmly listened to the murmuring ripple of the waters, or joined the merry group in gently plying of the splashing oar. With what eager delight are these reminiscences of youth dwelt on! With what mingled sensations of hope, fear, and regret, do we revert to the happy period of life when, like the favorite flower of the month, our minds and actions rivalled the lily in her purity! Who, that has ever tasted of the inspiring delight which springs from associations of scholastic friendships and amusements, but would eagerly quit the bustle of the great world to indulge in the enjoyment of the pure and unalloyed felicity which is yet to be found among the alumni of Eton?—Election Saturday—the very sound reverberates the echo of pleasure, and in a moment places me (in imagination) in the centre of the long chambers of Eton, walking beneath the grateful foliage of the beech-tree, with which those dormitories are always decorated previous to election Saturday. I can almost fancy that I hear the rattle of the carriage wheels, and see the four horses smoking beneath the lodge-window of Eton college, that conveys the provost of King's to attend examination and election. Then too I can figure the classic band who wait to 52~ receive him; the dignified little doctor leading the way, followed by the steady, calm-visaged lower master, Carter; then comes benedict Yonge, and after him a space intervenes, where one should have been of rare qualities, but he is absent; then follows good-humoured Heath, and Knapp, who loves the rattle of a coach, and pleasant, clever Hawtry, and careful Okes, and that shrewd sapper, Green, followed by medium Dupuis, and the intelligent Chapman: these form his classic escort to the cloisters. But who shall paint the captain's envied feelings, the proud triumph of his assiduity and skill? To him the honourable office of public orator is assigned; with modest reverence he speaks the Latin oration, standing, as is the custom from time immemorial, under the clock. There too he receives the bright reward, the approbation of the Provost of King's college, and the procession moves forward to the College-hall to partake of the generous banquet. On Sunday the Provost of King's remains a guest with his compeer of Eton. But busy Monday arrives, and hundreds of Oxonians and Cantabs pour in to witness the speeches of the boys, and pay a tribute of respect to their former masters. The exhibition this day takes place in the upper school, and consists of sixth form oppidans and collegers. How well can I remember the animated picture Eton presents on such occasions: shoals of juvenile oppidans, who are not yet of an age to have been elected of any particular school-party, marching forth from their dames' houses, linked arm in arm, parading down the street with an air and gaiety that implies some newly acquired consequence, or liberty of conduct. Every where a holiday face presents itself, and good humour lisps upon every tongue. Here may be seen a youthful group, all anxiety and bustle, trudging after some well-known Cad, who creeps along towards the Windsor coach-office, loaded with portmanteaus, carpet bags, and ~53~~ boxes, like a Norfolk caravan at Christmas time; while the youthful proprietors of the bulky stock, all anxiety and desire to reach their relatives and friends, are hurrying him on, and do not fail to spur the elephant with many a cutting gibe, at his slow progression. Within doors the dames are all bustle, collecting, arranging, and packing up the wardrobes of their respective boarders; servants flying from the hall to the attic, and endangering their necks in their passage down again, from anxiety to meet the breathless impetuosity of their parting guests. Books of all classes, huddled into a heap, may be seen in the corner of each bedroom, making sock for the mice till the return of their purveyors with lots of plum-cake and savoury tarts. The more mature are now busily engaged in settling the fashion of their costume for the approaching gala; in receiving a visit from an elder brother, or a young Oxonian, formerly of Eton, who has arrived post to take sock with him, and enjoy the approaching festivities. Here a venerable domestic, whose silver locks are the truest emblem of his trusty services, arrives with the favorite pony to convey home the infant heir and hope of some noble house.

Now is Garraway as lively as my lord mayor's steward at a Guildhall feast-day; and the active note of preparation for the good things of this world rings through the oaken chambers of the Christopher. Not even the sanctum sanctorum is forgotten, where, in times long past, I have quaffed my jug of Bulstrode, "in cool grot," removed from the scorching heat of a July day, and enjoyed many a good joke, secure from the prying observations of the domine. One, and one only, class of persons wear a sorrowful face upon these joyous occasions, and these are the confectioners and fruitresses of Eton; with them, election Saturday and busy Monday are like the herald to a Jewish black fast, or a stock exchange holiday: they may as well sport their oaks (to use an Oxford phrase) till the ~54~~ return of the oppidans to school, for they seldom see the colour of a customer's cash till the, to them, happy period arrives.

On the succeeding days the examinations of the collegers proceed regularly; then follows the election of new candidates, and the severe trial of those who stand for King's. These scholastic arrangements generally conclude on the Wednesday night, or Thursday morning, and then Pleasure mounts her variegated car, and drives wherever Fancy may direct. Formerly I find seven or eight scholars went to King's;{*} but in consequence of the fellows of Eton holding pluralities, the means are impoverished, and the number consequently reduced to two or three: this is the more to be regretted, on account of the very severe and irrecoverable disappointment the scholars experience in losing their election, merely on account of age; as at nineteen they are superannuated, and cannot afterwards receive any essential benefit from the college.

Not the blue waves of the Engia, covered with the gay feluccas of the Greeks, and spreading their glittering streamers in the sun; nor the more lovely

* This noble seminary of learning was founded by Hen. VI. in 1440. Its establishment was then on a limited scale; it has long since been enlarged, and now consists of a provost, vice-provost, six fellows, two schoolmasters, with their assistants, seventy scholars, seven clerks, and ten choristers, besides various inferior officers and servants. The annual election of scholars to King's College, Cambridge, takes place about the end of July, or the beginning of August, when the twelve senior scholars are put on the roll to succeed, but they are not removed till vacancies occur; the average number of which is about nine in two years. At nineteen years of age the scholars are superannuated. Eton sends, also, two scholars to Merton College, Oxford, where they are denominated post-masters, and has likewise a few exhibitions of twenty-one guineas each for its superannuated scholars. The scholars elected to King's succeed to fellowships at three years' standing.

~55~~ Adriatic, swelling her translucent bosom to the gentle motion of the gondolier, and bearing on her surface the splendid cars and magnificent pageant of the Doge of Venice, marrying her waters to the sea, can to an English bosom yield half the delight the grand aquatic Eton gala affords; where, decked in every costume fancy can devise, may be seen the noble youth of Britain, her rising statesmen, warriors, and judges, the future guardians of her liberties, wealth, and commerce, all vying with each other in loyal devotion to celebrate the sovereign's natal day.{*} Then doth thy silvery bosom, father Thames, present a spectacle truly delightful; a transparent mirror, studded with gems and stars and splendid pageantry, reflecting a thousand brilliant variegated hues; while, upon thy flowery margin, the loveliest daughters of the land press the green velvet of luxuriant nature, outrivalling in charms of colour, form, and beauty, the rose, the lily, and the graceful pine. There too may be seen the accomplished and the gay youth labouring for pleasure at the healthful oar, while with experienced skill the expert helmsman directs through all thy fragrant windings the trim bark to victory. The race determined, the bright star of eve, outrivalled by the pyrotechnic artiste, hides his diminished head. Now sallies forth the gay Oxonian from the Christopher, ripe with the rare Falernian of mine host, to have his frolic gambol with old friends. Pale Luna, through her misty veil, smiles at these harmless pleasantries, and lends the merry group her aid to smuggle signs, alter names, and play off a thousand fantastic vagaries; while the Eton Townsman, robed in

* The grand aquatic gala, which terminates the week's festi- vities at Eton, and concludes the water excursions for the season, was originally fixed in honour of his late majesty's birthday, and would have been altered to the period of his successor's, but the time would not accord, the twelfth day of August being vacation.

50~ peaceful slumber, dreams not of the change his house has undergone, and wakes to find a double transformation; his Angel vanished, or exchanged for the rude semblance of an Oxford Bear, with a cognomen thereto appended, as foreign to his family nomenclature "as he to Hercules." In the morning the dames are wailing the loss of their polished knockers; and the barber-surgeon mourns the absence of his obtrusive pole. The optician's glasses have been removed to the door of some prying domine; and the large tin cocked hat has been seized by some midnight giant, who has also claimed old Crispin's three-leagued boot. The golden fish has leaped into the Thames. The landlord of the Lamb bleats loudly for his fleece. The grocer cares not a fig for the loss of his sugar-loaves, but laughs, and takes it as a currant joke. Old Duplicate is resolved to have his balls restored with interest; and the lady mother of the black doll is quite pale in the face with sorrow for the loss of her child. Mine host of the vine looks as sour as his own grapes, before they were fresh gilded; and spruce master Pigtail, the tobacconist, complains that his large roll of real Virginia has been chopped into short cut. But these are by far the least tormenting jokes. That good-humoured Cad, Jem Miller, finds the honorary distinction of private tutor added to his name. Dame ——s, an irreproachable spinster of forty, discovers that of Mr. Probe, man-midwife, appended to her own. Mr. Primefit, the Eton Stultz, is changed into Botch, the cobbler. Diodorus Drowsy, D.D., of Windsor, is re-christened Diggory Drenchall, common brewer; and the amiable Mrs. Margaret Sweet, the Eton pastry-cook and confectioner, finds her name united in bands of brass with Mr. Benjamin Bittertart, the baker. The celebrated Christopher Caustic, Esq., surgeon, has the mortification to find his Esculapian dormitory decorated with the sign-board of Mr. Slaughtercalf, a German butcher; while his handsome brass pestle ~57~~ and mortar, with the gilt Galen's head annexed, have been waggishly transferred to the house of some Eton Dickey Gossip, barber and dentist. Mr. Index, the bookseller, changes names with old Frank Finis, the sexton. The elegant door plate of Miss Caroline Cypher, spinster, is placed on the right side of Nicodemus

Number, B.A., and fellow of Eton, with this note annexed: "New rule of Addition, according to Cocker." Old Amen, the parish clerk, is united to Miss Bridget Silence, the pew opener; and Theophilus White, M.D. changes place with Mr. Sable, the undertaker. But we shall become too grave if we proceed deeper with this subject. There is no end to the whimsical alterations and ludicrous changes that take place upon these occasions, when scarce a sign or door plate in Eton escapes some pantomimic transformation.*

* Representations to the masters or authorities are scarcely ever necessary to redress these whimsical grievances, as the injured parties are always remunerated. The next day the spoils and trophies are arranged in due form in a certain snug sanctum sanctorum, the cellar of a favorite inn, well known by the name of the Oppidan's Museum; for a view of which see the sketch made on the spot by my friend Bob Transit. Here the merry wags are to be found in council, holding a court of claims, to which all the tradesmen who have suffered any loss are successively summoned; and after pointing out from among the motley collection the article they claim, and the price it originally cost, they are handsomely remunerated, or the sign replaced. The good people of Eton generally choose the former, as it not only enable them to sport a new sign, but to put a little profit upon the cost price of the old one. The trophies thus acquired are then packed up in hampers, and despatched to Oxford, where they are on similar occasions not unfrequently displayed, or hung up, in lieu of some well-known sign, such as the Mitre, &c. which has been removed during the night.

~58~~



The following jeu-d'esprits issued upon the interference of the authorities at the conclusion of the last Election. The "dance of thirty sovereigns" is an allusion to the fine imposed, which was given to the poor.

A Ladder Dance. A moving golden Fish. The Fall of Grapes, during a heavy storm. The Cock'd Hat Combat. A March to the Workhouse. Bird-cage Duett, by Messrs. C***** and B****. A public Breakfast, with a dance by thirty sovereigns. Glee—"When shall we three meet again." The Barber's Hornpipe, by the learned D****. The Turk's Head Revel. Saint Christopher's March. The Committee in Danger. The Cloisters, Eton



~59~~



HERBERT STOCKHORE, THE MONTEM POET LAUREATE.

A SKETCH FROM THE LIFE,

As he appeared in the Montent Procession of May, 1823.

BY BERNARD BLACKMANTLE, AND ROBERT TRANSIT

Bending beneath a weight of time, And crippled as his Montem ode, We found the humble son of rhyme

Busy beside the public road. Nor laurel'd wreath or harp had he,

To deck his brow or touch the note That wakes the soul to sympathy.

His face was piteous as his coat, 'Twas motley strange; e'en nature's self,

In wild, eccentric, playful mood, Had, for her pastime, form'd the elf,

A being scarcely understood— Half idiot, harmless; yet a gleam

Of sense, and whim, and shrewdness, broke The current of his wildest stream;

And pity sigh'd as madness spoke.

~60~~

Lavater, Lawrence, Camper, here

Philosophy new light had caught: Judged by your doctrines 'twould appear

The facial line denoted thought.{1} But say, what system e'er shall trace

By scalp or visage mental worth? The ideot's form, the maniac's face,

Are shared alike by all on earth. "Comparative Anatomy—"

If, Stockhore, 'twas to thee apply'd, 'Twould set the doubting Gallist free,

And Spurzheim's idle tales deride. But hence with visionary scheme,

Though Bell, or Abernethy, write; Be Herbert Stockhore all my theme,

The laureate's praises I indite; He erst who sung in Montem's praise,

And, Thespis like, from out his cart Recited his extempore lays,

On Eton's sons, in costume smart, Who told of captains bold and grand,

Lieutenants, marshals, seeking salt; Of colonels, majors, cap in hand,

Who bade e'en majesty to halt;

1 It is hardly possible to conceive a more intelligent, venerable looking head, than poor Herbert Stockhore presents; a fine capacious forehead, rising like a promontory of knowledge, from a bold outline of countenance, every feature decisive, breathing serenity and thoughtfulness, with here and there a few straggling locks of silvery gray, which, like the time-discoloured moss upon some ancient battlements, are the true emblems of antiquity: the eye alone is generally dull and sunken in the visage, but during his temporary gleams of sanity, or fancied flights of poetical inspiration, it is unusually bright and animated. According to professor Camper, I should think the facial line would make an angle of eighty or ninety degrees; and, judging upon the principles laid down by Lavater, poor Herbert might pass for a Solon. Of his bumps, or phrenological protuberances, I did not take particular notice, but I have no doubt they would be found, upon examination, equally illustrative of such visionary systems.

~61~~

Told how the ensign nobly waved

The colours on the famous hill; And names from dull oblivion saved,

Who ne'er the niche of fame can fill: Who, like to Campbell, lends his name.{2}

To many a whim he ne'er did write; When witty scholars, to their shame,

'Gainst masters hurl a satire trite.{3} But fare thee well, Ad Montem's bard,{4}

Farewell, my mem'ry's early friend

2 The author of "the Pleasures of Hope," and the editor of the New Monthly; but-"Tarde, quo credita lodunt, credimus."

3 It has long been the custom at Eton, particularly during Montem, to give Herbert Stockhore the credit of many a satirical whim, which he, poor fellow, could as easily have penned as to have written a Greek ode. These squibs are sometimes very humorous, and are purposely written in doggrel verse to escape detection by the masters, who are not unfrequently the principal porsons alluded to.

4 The following laughable production was sold by poor Herbert Stockhore during the last Montem: we hardly think we need apologise for introducing this specimen of his muse: any account of Eton characteristics must have been held deficient without it.



THE MONTEM ODE. May 20, 1823.

Muses attend! the British channel flock o'er, Call'd by your most obedient servant, Stockhore. Aid me, O, aid me, while I touch the string; Montem and Captain Barnard's praise I sing; Captain Barnard, the youth so noble and bright, That none dare dispute his worthy right To that gay laurel which his brother wore, In times that 1 remember long before. What are Olympic honours compared to thine, 0 Captain, when Majesty does combine With heroes, their wives, sons and daughters great, To visit this extremely splendid fete. Enough! I feel a sudden inspiration fill My bowels; just as if the tolling bell Had sent forth sounds a floating all along the air Just such Parnassian sounds, though deaf, I'm sure I hear.

~62~~

May misery never press thee hard, Ne'er may disease thy steps attend: Listen, ye gents; rude Boreas hold your tongue! The pomp advances, and my lyre is strung. First comes Marshal Thackeray, Dress'd out in crack array; Ar'nt he a whacker, eh? His way he picks, Follow'd by six, Like a hen by her chicks:

Enough! he's gone. As this martial Marshall Is to music partial, The bandsmen march all

His heels upon. He who hits the balls such thumps, King of cricket-bats and stumps,— Barnard comes; Sound the drums—

Silence! he's past. Eight fair pages, Of different ages,

Follow fast. Next comes the Serjeant-Major, Who, like an old stager,

Without need of bridle Walks steadily; the same Dolphin Major by name,

Major Dolphin by title. Next struts Serjeant Brown, Very gay you must own; With gallant Mr. Hughes, In well-polish'd shoes; Then Sampson, who tramps on, Strong as his namesake. Then comes Webb, who don't dread To die for his fame's sake. Next shall I sing Of Serjeant King, And Horace Walpole, Holding a tall pole, Who follows King and Antrobus, Though he's "pulchrior ambobus."

~63~~

Be all thy wants by those supply'd, Whom charity ne'er fail'd to move{5}:

5 This eccentric creature has for many years subsisted entirely upon the bounty of the Etonians, and the inhabitants of Windsor and Eton, who never fail to administer to his wants, and liberally supply him with many little comforts in return for his harmless pleasantries.

Then to Salthill speed on, While the troops they lead on; Both Mr. Beadon, And Serjeant Mitford, Who's ready to fi't for't. Then Mr. Carter follows a'ter; And Denman, Worth ten men, Like a Knight of the Garter; And Cumberbatch, Without a match, Tell me, who can be smarter? Then Colonel Hand, Monstrous grand, Closes the band. Pass on, you nameless crowd, Pass on. The Ensign proud Comes near. Let all that can see Behold the Ensign Dansey; See with what elegance he Waves the flag—to please the fancy. Pass on, gay crowd; Le Mann, the big, Bright with gold as a guinea-pig, The big, the stout, the fierce Le Mann, Walks like a valiant gentleman. But take care of your pockets, Here's Salt-bearer Platt, With a bag in his hand, And a plume in his hat; A handsomer youth, sure small-clothes ne'er put on, Though very near rival'd by elegant Sutton.

Thus then has pass'd this grand procession, In most magnificent progression. Farewell you gay and happy throng!

~64~~

Etona's motto, crest, and pride, Is feeling, courage, friendship, love.

Farewell my Muse! farewell my song' Farewell Salthill! farewell brave Captain; As ever uniform was clapt in; Since Fortune's kind, pray do not mock her; Your humble poet,

HERBERT STOCKHORE.

Herbert Stockhore was originally a bricklayer, and now resides at a little house which he has built for himself, and called Mount Pleasant, in a lane leading from Windsor to the Meadows. He has a wife and daughter, honest, industrious people, who reside with him, and are by no means displeased at the visit of a stranger to their eccentric relative. Some idea of the old man's amusing qualifications may be conceived from the following description, to which I have added the account he gives of his heraldic bearings. It must be recollected that the Etonians encourage these whims in the poor old man, and never lose an opportunity of impressing Stockhore with a belief in the magnificent powers of his genius.—After we had heard him recite several of his unconnected extempore rhapsodies, we were to be indulged with the Montem ode; this the old man insisted should be spoken in his gala dress; nor could all the entreaties of his wife and daughter, joined to those of myself and friend (fearful of appearing obtrusive), dissuade old Herbert from his design. He appeared quite frantic with joy when the dame brought forth from an upper apartment these insignia of his laureateship; the careful manner in which they were folded up and kept clean gave us to understand that the good woman herself set some store by them. The wife and daughter now proceeded to robe the laureate bard: the first garment which was placed over his shoulders, and came below his waist, was a species of tunic made out of patches of bed-furniture, trimmed in the most fantastic manner with fragments of worsted fringe of all colors. Over this he wore an old military jacket, of a very ancient date in respect to costume, and trimmed like the robe with fringe of every variety. A pair of loose trowsers of the same materials as the tunic were also displayed; but the fashion of the poet's head-dress exceeded all the rest for whimsicality: round an old soldier's cap a sheet of pasteboard was bent to a spiral form, rising about fourteen inches, and covered with some pieces of chintz bed-furniture of a very rich pattern; in five separate circles, was disposed as many different colors of fringes; some worsted twisted, to resemble feathers, was suspended from the side; and the whole had the most grotesque appearance, more nearly resembling the papal crown in similitude than any thing else I can conceive. ~65~~

Poor harmless soul, thy merry stave Shall live when nobler poets bend;

The poor old fellow seemed elated to a degree. We had sent for a little ale for him, but were informed he was not accustomed to drink much of any strong liquor. After a glass, Herbert recited with great gesture and action, but in a very imperfect manner, the Montem ode; and then for a few minutes seemed quite exhausted. During this exhibition my friend Transit was engaged in sketching his portrait, a circumstance that appeared to give great pleasure to the wife and daughter, who earnestly requested, if it was published, to be favored with a copy. We had now become quite familiar with the old man, and went with him to view his Montem car and Arabian pony, as he called them, in a stable adjoining the house. On our return, my friend Transit observed that his cart required painting, and should be decorated with some appropriate emblem. Herbert appeared to understand the idea, and immediately proceeded to give us a history of his heraldic bearings, or, as he said, what his coat of arms should be, which, he assured us, the gentlemen of Eton had subscribed for, and were having prepared at the Heralds' College in London, on purpose for him to display next Montem. "My grand-father," said Stockhore, "was a hatter, therefore I am entitled to the beaver in the first quarter of my shield. My grandfather by my mother's side was a farmer, therefore I should have the wheat-sheaf on the other part. My own father was a pipe-maker, and that gives me a noble ornament, the cross pipes and glasses, the emblems of good fellowship. Now my wife's father was a tailor, and that yields me a goose: those are the bearings of the four quarters of my shield. Now, sir, I am a poet—ay, the poet laureate of Montem; and that gives me a right to the winged horse for my crest. There's a coat of arms for you," said poor Herbert; "why, it would beat every thing but the king's; ay, and his too, if it wasn't for the lion and crown." The attention we paid to this whim pleased the poor creature mightily; he was all animation and delight. But the day was fast declining: so, after making the poor people a trifling present for the trouble we had given them, my friend Transit and myself took our farewell of poor Herbert, not, I confess, without regret; for I think the reader will perceive by this brief sketch thero is great character and amusement in his harmless whims. I have been thus particular in my description of him, because he is always at Montem time an object of much curiosity; and to every Etonian of the last thirty years, his peculiarities must have frequently afforded amusement. ~66~~

And when Atropos to the grave Thy silvery locks of gray shall send,

Etona's sons shall sing thy fame, Ad Montem still thy verse resound,

Still live an ever cherish'd name, As long as salt{2} and sock abound.

2 Salt is the name given to the money collected at Montem.



THE DOUBTFUL POINT.

"Why should I not read it," thought Horatio, hesitating, with the MSS. of Life in Eton half opened in his hand. A little Chesterfield deity, called Prudence, whispered—"Caution." "Well, Miss Hypocrisy," quoth the Student, "what serious offence shall I commit against propriety or morality by reading a whimsical jeu-d'esprit, penned to explain the peculiar lingual localisms of Eton, and display her chief characteristic follies." "It is slang," said Prudence. "Granted," said Horatio: "but he who undertakes to depict real life must not expect to make a pleasing or a correct picture, without the due proportions of light and shade. 'Vice to be hated needs but to be seen.' Playful satire may do more towards correcting the evil than all the dull lessons of sober-tongued morality can ever hope to effect." Candour, who just then happened to make a passing call, was appointed referee; and, without hesitation, agreed decidedly with Horatio.{1}

1 Life at Eton will not, I hope, be construed into any intention of the author's to follow in the track of any previous publication: his object is faithfully to delineate character, not to encourage vulgar phraseology, or promulgate immoral sentiment.

~67~~



LIFE IN ETON;

A COLLEGE CHAUNT IN PRAISE OF PRIVATE TUTORS.{1}

Time hallowed shades, and noble names, Etonian classic bowers; Pros,{2} masters, fellows, and good dames,{3} Where pass'd my school-boy hours;

1 Private tutor, in the Eton school phrase, is another term for a Cad, a fellow who lurks about college, and assists in all sprees and sports by providing dogs, fishing tackle, guns, horses, bulls for baiting, a badger, or in promoting any other interdicted, or un-lawful pastime. A dozen or more of these well known characters may be seen loitering in front of the college every morning, making their arrangement with their pupils, the Oppidans, for a day's sport, to commence the moment school is over. They formerly used to occupy a seat on the low wall, in front of the college, but the present headmaster has recently interfered to expel this assemblage; they still, however, carry on their destructive intercourse with youth, by walking about, and watching their opportunity for communication. The merits of these worthies are here faithfully related, and will be instantly recognised by any Etonian of the last thirty years.

2 PROS. Eton college is governed by a provost, vice- provost, six fellows, a steward of the courts, head-master, and a lower, or second master; to which is added, nine assistant masters, and five extra ones, appointed to teach French, writing, drawing, fencing, and dancing. The school has materially increased in numbers within the last few years, and now contains nearly five hundred scholars, sons of noblemen and gentlemen, and may be truly said to be the chief nursery for the culture of the flower of the British nation.—See note to page 54.

3 DAMES. The appellation given to the females who keep boarding-houses in Eton. These houses, although out of the college walls, are subject to the surveillance of the head master and fellows, to whom all references and complaints are made.

~69~~ Come list', while I with con,{4} and sock{5} And chaunt,{6} both ripe and mellow, Tell how you knowledge stores unlock,

To make a clever fellow.{7} For Greek and Latin, classic stuff,

Let tug muttons{8}compose it; Give oppidans{9} but blunt{10 }enough,

What odds to them who knows it. A dapper dog,{11} a right coolfish,{12}

Who snugly dines on pewter; Quaffs Bulstrode ale,{13} and takes his dish.

4 CON. A con is a companion, or friend; as, "you are cons of late."

5 SOCK signifies eating or drinking niceties; as, pastry, jellies, Bishop, &c.

6 CHAUNT, a good song; to versify.

7 This is not intended as an imputation on the learned fellows of Eton college, but must be taken in the vulgar acceptation—you're a clever fellow, &c.

8 TUG MUTTONS, or Tugs, collegers, foundation scholars; an appellation given to them by the oppidans, in derision of the custom which has prevailed from the earliest period, and is still continued, of living entirely on roast mutton; from January to December no other description of meat is ever served up at College table in the hall. There are seventy of these young gentlemen on the foundation who, if they miss their election when they are nineteen, lose all the benefits of a fellowship.

9 OPPIDANS, independent scholars not on the foundation.

10 BLUNT, London slang (for money), in use here.

11 A DAPPER DOC, any thing smart, or pleasing, as, "Ay, that's dapper," or, "you are a dapper dog."

12 A RIGHT COOL FISH, one who is not particular what he says or does.

13 BULSTRODE ALE, a beverage in great request at the Christopher. When the effects were sold at Bulstrode, Garraway purchased a small stock of this famous old ale, which by some miraculous process he has continued to serve out in plentiful quantities ever since. The joke has of late been rather against mine host of the Christopher, who, however, to do him justice, has an excellent tap, which is now called the queen's, from some since purchased at Windsor: this is sold in small quarts, at one shilling per jug.

~70~~ In private with his tutor.{14} In lieu of ancient learned lore,

Which might his brain bewilder, Rum college slang he patters o'er,

With cads{15 }who chouse{16} the guilder. Who's truly learn'd must read mankind,

Truth's axiom inculcates: The world's a volume to the mind,

Instructive more than pulpits.{17} Come fill the bowl with Bishop up,

Clods,{18} Fags,{19} and Skugs{20} and Muttons{21}; When absence{22} calls ye into sup,

Drink, drink to me, ye gluttons. I'll teach ye how to kill dull care,

Improve your box of knowledge,{23}

14 Many of the young noblemen and gentlemen at Eton are accompanied by private tutors, who live with them to expedite their studies; they are generally of the College, and recommended by the head master for their superior endowments.

15 CAD, a man of all work, for dirty purposes, yclept private tutor. See note 1, page 68.

16 CHOUSE the GUILDER. Chouse or chousing is generally applied to any transaction in which they think they may have been cheated or overcharged.

Guilder is a cant term for gold.

17 Nothing in the slightest degree unorthodox is meant to be inferred from this reasoning, but simply the sentiment of this quotation-'The proper study of mankind is man.'

18 CLODS, as, "you clod," a town boy, or any one not an Etonian, no matter how respectable.

19 FAGS, boys in the lower classes. Every fifth form boy has his fag.

20 SCUG or SKUG, a lower boy in the school, relating to

sluggish. 21 MUTTONS. See note 8.

22 ABSENCE. At three-quarters past eight in summer, and earlier in winter, several of the masters proceed to the different dames' houses, and call absence, when every boy is compelled to be instantly in quarters for the night, on pain of the most severe punishment.

23 BOX of KNOWLEDGE, the pericranium.

With all that's witty, choice, and rare,

'Fore all the Slugs{24} of college. Of private tutors, vulgo Cads,

A list I mean to tender; The qualities of all the lads,

Their prices to a bender.{25} First, Shampo Carter{26} doffs his tile,

To dive, to fish, or fire; There's few can better time beguile,

And none in sporting higher.

24 SLUGS of College, an offensive appellation applied to the fellows of Eton by the townsmen.

25 BENDER, a sixpence.

26 Note from Bernard Blackmantle, M.A. to Shampo Carter and Co. P.T.'s:—

MESSIEURS THE CADS OF ETON, In handing down to posterity your multifarious merits and brilliant qualifications, you will perceive I have not forgotten the signal services and delightful gratifications so often afforded me in the days of my youth. Be assured, most assiduous worthies, that I am fully sensible of all your merits, and can appreciate justly your great usefulness to the rising generation. You are the sappers and miners of knowledge, who attack and destroy the citadel of sense before it is scarcely defensible. It is no fault of yours if the stripling of Eton is not, at eighteen, well initiated into all the mysteries of life, excepting only the, to him, mysterious volumes of the classics. To do justice to all was not within the limits of my work; I have therefore selected from among you the most distinguished names, and I flatter myself, in so doing, I have omitted very few of any note; if, however, any efficient member of your brotherhood should have been unintentionally passed by, he has only to forward an authenticated copy of his biography and peculiar merits to the publisher, to meet with insertion in a second edition.

Bernard Blackmantle.

Bill Carter is, after all, a very useful fellow, if it was only in teaching the young Etonians to swim, which he does, by permission of the head master.

Tile, a hat.

~72~~ Joe Cannon, or my lord's a gun,{27} A regular nine pounder; To man a boat, stands number one,

And ne'er was known to flounder. There's Foxey Hall{28} can throw the line With any Walton angler; To tell his worth would task the Nine,

Or pose a Cambridge wrangler. Next, Pickey Powell{29} at a ball

Is master of the wicket; Can well deliver at a call

A trite essay on cricket. Jem Flowers {30} baits a badger well,

For a bull hank, or tyke, sir; And as an out and out bred swell,{31}

Was never seen his like.

27 A GUN—"He's a great gun," a good fellow, a knowing one. Joe is a first rate waterman, and by the Etonians styled "Admiral of the fleet."

28 "Not a better fellow than Jack Hall among the Cads," said an old Etonian, "or a more expert angler." Barb, Gudgeon, Dace, and Chub, seem to bite at his bidding; and if they should be a little shy, why Jack knows how to "go to work with the net."

29 Who, that has been at Eton, and enjoyed the manly and invigorating exercise of cricket, has not repeatedly heard Jem Powell in tones of exultation say, "Only see me 'liver thin here ball, my young master?" And, in good truth, Jem is right, for very few can excel him in that particular: and then (when Jem is Bacchi plenis,) who can withstand his quart of sovereigns. On such occasions Jem is seen marching up and down before the door of his house, with a silver quart tankard filled with gold—the savings of many years of industry.

30 Jem Flowers is an old soldier; and, in marshalling the forces for a bull or a badger-bait, displays all the tactics of an experienced general officer. Caleb Baldwin would no more bear comparison with Jem than a flea does to an elephant.

31 When it is remembered how near Eton is to London, and how frequent the communication, it will appear astonishing, but highly creditable to the authorities, that so little of the current slang of the day is to be met with here.

~73~~

There's Jolly Jem,{32} who keeps his punt,

And dogs to raise the siller; Of cads, the captain of the hunt,

A right and tight good miller. Next Barney Groves,{33} a learned wight,

The impounder of cattle, Dilates on birth and common right,

And threats black slugs with battle. Big George {34} can teach the use of fives,

Or pick up a prime terrier; Or spar, or keep the game alive,

With beagle, bull, or harrier. Savager{35} keeps a decent nag,

32 Jem Miller was originally a tailor; but having dropt a stitch or two in early life, listed into a sporting regiment of Cads some years since; and being a better shot at hares and partridges than he was considered at the heavy goose, has been promoted to the rank of captain of the private tutors. Jem is a true jolly fellow; his house exhibits a fine picture of what a sportsman's hall should be, decorated with all the emblems of fishing, fowling, and hunting, disposed around in great taste.

33 Barney Groves, the haughward, or impounder of stray cattle at Eton, is one of the most singular characters I have ever met with. Among the ignorant Barney is looked up to as the fountain of local and legal information; and it is highly ludicrous to hear him expatiate on his favourite theme of "our birthrights and common rights;" tracing the first from the creation, and deducing argument in favor of his opinions on the second from doomsday book, through all the intricate windings of the modern inclosure acts. Barney is a great stickler for reform in College, and does not hesitate to attack the fellows of Eton (whom he denominates black slugs), on holding pluralities, and keeping the good things to themselves. As Barney's avocation compels him to travel wide, he is never interrupted by water; for in summer or winter he readily wades through the deepest places; he is consequently a very efficient person in a sporting party.

34 George Williams, a well-known dog fancier, who also teaches the art and science of pugilism.

35 Savager, a livery-stable keeper, who formerly used to keep a good tandem or two for hire, but on the interference of the head master, who interdicted such amusements as dangerous, they have been put down in Eton.

~74~~

But's very shy of lending, Since she put down her tandem drag,{36}

For fear of Keates offending. But if you want to splash along

In glory with a ginger,{37} Or in a Stanhope come it strong,

Try Isaac Clegg,{38} of Windsor. If o'er old father Thames you'd glide,

And cut the silvery stream; With Hester's{39} eight oars mock the tide,

He well deserves a theme. There's Charley Miller, and George Hall,{40}

Can beasts and birds restore, sir; And though they cannot bark or squall,

Look livelier than before, sir. Handy Jack's {41} a general blade,

There's none like Garraway, sir; Boats, ducks, or dogs, are all his trade,

He'll fit you to a say, sir.

36 DR A G, London slang for tilbury, dennet, Stanhope, &c.

37 A GINGER, a showy, fast horse.

38 Isaac Clegg is in great repute for his excellent turn outs, and prime nags; and, living in Windsor, he is out of the jurisdiction of the head master.

39 Hester's boats are always kept in excellent trim. At Eton exercise on the water is much practised, and many of the scholars are very expert watermen: they have recently taken to boats of an amazing length, forty feet and upwards, which, manned with eight oars, move with great celerity. Every Saturday evening the scholars are permitted to assume fancy dresses; but the practice is now principally confined to the steersman; the rest simply adopting sailors' costume, except on the fourth of June, or election Saturday, when there is always a grand gala, a band of music, and fireworks, on the island in the Thames.

40 Miller and Hall, two famous preservers of birds and animals; an art in high repute among the Etonians.

41 A famous boatman, duck-hunter, dog-fighter; or, according to the London phrase—good at everything.

~75~~

Tom New {42} in manly sports is old,

A tailor, and a trump, sir; And odd Fish Bill,{43} at sight of gold,

Will steer clear of the bump,"{44} sir. A list of worthies, learn'd and great

In every art and science, That noble youths should emulate,

To set laws at defiance: The church, the senate, and the bar,

By these in ethics grounded, Must prove a meteoric star,

Of brilliancy compounded. Ye lights of Eton, rising suns,

Of all that's great and godly; The nation's hope, and dread of duns,

Let all your acts be motley. Learn arts like these, ye oppidan,

If you'd astonish greatly The senate, or the great divan,

With classics pure, and stately. Give Greek and Latin to the wind,

Bid pedagogues defiance: These are the rules to grace the mind

With the true gems of science.

42 Tom New, a great cricketer.

43 Bill Fish, a waterman who attends the youngest boys in their excursions.

44 The BUMP, to run against each other in the race.

~76~~



APOLLO'S VISIT TO ETON.

~76~~ This whimsical production appeared originally in 1819, in an Eton miscellany entitled the College Magazine; the poetry of which was afterwards selected, and only fifty copies struck off: these have been carefully suppressed, principally we believe on account of this article, as it contains nothing that we conceive can be deemed offensive, and has allusions to almost all the distinguished scholars of that period, besides including the principal contributors to the Etonian, a recent popular work: we have with some difficulty filled up the blanks with real names; and, at the suggestion of several old Etonians, incorporated it with the present work, as a fair criterion of the promising character of the school at this particular period.

The practice of thus distinguishing the rising talents of Eton is somewhat ancient. We have before us a copy of verses dated 1620, in which Waller, the poet, and other celebrated characters of his time, are particularised. At a still more recent period, during the mastership of the celebrated Doctor Barnard, the present earl of Carlisle, whose classical taste is universally admitted, distinguished himself not less than his compeers, by some very elegant lines: those on the late Right Hon. C. J. Fox we are induced to extract as a strong proof of the noble earl's early penetration and foresight.

"How will my Fox, alone, by strength of parts. Shake the loud senate, animate the hearts Of fearful statesmen? while around you stand Both Peers and Commons listening your command.

~77~~

While Tully's sense its weight to you affords, His nervous sweetness shall adorn your words. What praise to Pitt,{1} to Townshend, e'er was due, In future times, my Pox, shall wait on you."

At a subsequent period, the leading characters of the school were spiritedly drawn in a periodical newspaper, called the World, then edited by Major Topham, and the Rev. Mr. East, who is still, I believe, living, and preaches occasionally at Whitehall. From that publication, now very scarce, I have selected the following as the most amusing, and relating to distinguished persons.

1 The great Earl of Chatham.



RECOLLECTIONS OF AN OLD ETONIAN.

The Lords Littleton—father and son, formed two opposite characters in their times. The former had a distinguished turn for pastoral poetry, and wrote some things at Eton with all the enthusiasm of early years, and yet with all the judgment of advanced life. The latter showed there, in some traits of disposition, what was to be expected from him; but he too loved the Muses, and cultivated them.

He there too displayed the strange contraries of being an ardent admirer of the virtues of classic times, while he was cheating at chuck and all-fours; and though he affected every species of irreligion, was, in fact, afraid of his own shadow.

The whole North Family have, in succession, adorned this school with their talents—which in the different branches were various, but all of mark and vivacity. To the younger part, Dampier was the tutor; who, having a little disagreement with Frank North on the hundred steps coming down from the terrace, at Windsor, they adjusted it, by Frank North's rolling his tutor very quickly down the whole of them. The tutor has since risen to some eminence in the church.

Lord Cholmondeley was early in life a boy of great parts, and they have continued so ever since, though not lively ones. Earl of Buckingham was a plain good scholar, but ~79~~ would have been better at any other school, for he was no poet, and verse is here one of the first requisites; besides, he had an impediment in his speech, which, in the hurry of repeating a lesson before a number of boys, was always increased. It was inculcated to him by his dame—that he must look upon himself as the reverse of a woman in every thing, and not hold—that whoever "deliberates is lost."

Lord Harrington was a boy of much natural spirit. In the great rebellion, under Forster, when all the boys threw their books into the Thames, and marched to Salt Hill, he was amongst the foremost. At that place each took an oath, or rather swore, he would be d———d if ever he returned to school again.

When, therefore, he came to London to the old Lord Harrington's, and sent up his name, his father would only speak to him at the door, insisting, at the same time, on his immediate return. "Sir," said the son, "consider I shall be d—d if I do!" "And I" answered the father, "will be d—d if you don't!"

"Yes, my lord," replied the son, "but you will be d—d together I do or no!"

The Storers. Anthony and Tom, for West Indians, were better scholars than usually fell to the share of those children of the sun, who were, in general, too gay to be great. The name of the elder stands to this day at the head of many good exercises; from which succeeding genius has stolen, and been praised for it.

Tom had an odd capability of running round a room on the edge of the wainscot, a strange power of holding by the foot: an art which, in lower life, might have been serviceable to him in the showing it. And Anthony, likewise, amongst better and more brilliant qualifications, had the reputation of being amongst the best dancers of the age. In a political line, perhaps, he did not dance attendance to much purpose.

Harry Conway, brother to the present Marquis of ~80~~ Hertford, though younger in point of learning, was older than his brother, Lord Beauchamp; but he was not so forward as to show this preeminence: a somewhat of modesty, a consciousness of being younger, always kept him back from displaying it. In fact, they were perfectly unlike two Irish boys—the Wades, who followed them, and who, because the younger was taller, used to fight about which was the eldest.

Pepys. A name well known for Barnard's commendation of it, and for his exercises in the Musae Etonenses. He was amongst the best poets that Eton ever produced.

Kirkshaw, son to the late doctor, of Leeds, and since fellow of Trinity College. When his father would have taken him away, he made a singular request that he might stay a year longer, not wishing to be made a man so early.

Many satiric Latin poems bear his name at Eton, and he continued that turn afterwards at Cambridge. He was remarkable for a very large head; but it should likewise be added, there was a good deal in it.

On this head, his father used to hold forth in the country. He was, without a figure, the head of the school, and was afterwards in the caput at the university.

Wyndham, under Barnard, distinguished himself very early as a scholar, and for a logical acuteness, which does not often fall to the share of a boy. He was distinguished too both by land and by water; for while he was amongst the most informed of his time, in school hours, in the playing fields, on the water, with the celebrated boatman, my guinea piper at cricket, or in rowing, he was always the foremost. He used to boast, that he should in time be as good a boxer as his father was, though he used to add, that never could be exactly known, as he could not decently have a set-to with him.

~81~~ Fawkener, the major, was captain of the school; and in those days was famed for the "suaviter in modo," and for a turn for gallantry with the Windsor milliners, which he pursued up the hundred steps, and over the terrace there. As this turn frequently made him overrun the hours of absence, on his return he was found out, and flogged the next morning; but this abated not his zeal in the cause of gallantry, as he held it to be, like Ovid, whom he was always reading, suffering in a fair cause.

Fawkener, Everard, minor, with the same turn for pleasure as his brother, but more open and ingenuous in his manner, more unreserved in his behaviour, then manifested, what he has since been, the bon vivant of every society, and was then as since, the admired companion in every party.

Prideaux was remarkable for being the gravest boy of his time, and for having the longest chin. Had he followed the ancient "Sapientem pascere Barbam," there would in fact have been no end of it. With this turn, however, his time was not quite thrown away, nor his gravity. In conjunction with Dampier, Langley, and Serjeant, who were styled the learned Cons, he composed a very long English poem, in the same metre as the Bath Guide, and of which it was then held a favour to get a copy. He had so much of advanced life about him, that the masters always looked upon him as a man; and this serious manner followed him through his pastimes. He was fond of billiards; but he was so long in making his stroke, that no boy could bear to play with him: when the game, therefore, went against him, like Fabius-Cunctando restituit rem; and they gave it up rather than beat him.

Hulse. Amongst the best tennis-players that Eton ever sent up to Windsor, where he always was. As a poet he distinguished himself greatly, by winning one of the medals given by Sir John Dalrymple. His ~82~~ exercise on this occasion was the subject of much praise to Doctor Forster, then master, and of much envy to his contemporaries in the sixth form, who said it was given to him because he was head boy.

These were his arts; besides which he had as many tricks as any boy ever had. He had nothing when praepositer, and of course ruling under boys, of dignity about him, or of what might enforce his authority. When he ought to have been angry, some monkey trick always came across him, and he would make a serious complaint against a little boy, in a hop, step, and a jump.

Montague. Having a great predecessor before him under the appellation of "Mad Montague" had always a consolatory comparison in this way in his favor. In truth, at times he wanted it, for he was what has been termed a genius: but he was likewise so in talent. He was an admirable poet, and had a neatness of expression seldom discoverable at such early years. In proof, may be brought a line from a Latin poem on Cricket:

"Clavigeri fallit verbera—virga cadit."

And another on scraping a man down at the Robin Hood:

"Radit arenosam pes inimicus humum."

The scratching of the foot on the sandy floor is admirable.

During a vacation, Lord Sandwich took him to Holland; and he sported on his return a Dutch-built coat for many weeks. The boys used to call him Mynheer Montague; but his common habit of oddity soon got the better of his coat.

He rose to be a young man of great promise, as to abilities; and died too immaturely for his fame.

Tickell, the elder. Manu magis quam capite should have been his motto. By natural instinct he loved ~83~~ fighting, and knew not what fear was. He went amongst his school-fellows by the name of Hannibal, and Old Tough. A brother school-fellow of his, no less a man than the Marquis of Buckingham, met, and recognised him again in Ireland, and with the most marked solicitude of friendship, did every thing but assist him, in obtaining a troop of dragoons, which he had much at heart.

Tickell, minor, should then have had the eulogy of how much elder art thou than thy years! In those early days his exercises, read publicly in school, gave the anticipation of what time and advancing years have brought forth. He was an admirable scholar, and a poet from nature; forcible, neat, and discriminating. The fame of his grandsire, the Tickell of Addison, was not hurt by the descent to him.

His sister, who was the beauty of Windsor castle, and the admiration of all, early excited a passion in a boy then at school, who afterwards married her. Of this sister he was very fond; but he was not less so of another female at Windsor, a regard since terminated in a better way with his present wife.

His pamphlet of Anticipation, it is said, placed him where he since was, under the auspices of Lord North; but his abilities were of better quality, and deserved a better situation for their employment.

Lord Plymouth, then Lord Windsor, had to boast some distinctions, which kept him aloof from the boys of his time. He was of that inordinate size that, like Falstaff, four square yards on even ground were so many miles to him; and the struggles which he underwent to raise himself when down might have been matter of instruction to a minority member. In the entrance to his Dame's gate much circumspection was necessary; for, like some good men out of power, he found it difficult to get in.

When in school, or otherwise, he was not undeserving of praise, either as to temper or ~84~~ scholarship; and whether out of the excellence of his Christianity, or that of good humour, he was not very adverse to good living; and he continued so ever after.

Lord Leicester had the reputation of good scholarship, and not undeservedly. In regard to poetry, however, he was sometimes apt to break the eighth commandment, and prove lie read more the Musee Etonenses than his prayer-book. Inheriting it from Lord Townshend, the father of caricaturists, he there pursued, with nearly equal ability, that turn for satiric drawing. The master, the tutors, slender Prior, and fat Roberts,—all felt in rotation the effects of his pencil.

There too, as well as since, he had a most venerable affection for heraldry, and the same love of collecting together old titles, and obsolete mottos. Once in the military, he had, it may be said, a turn for arms. In a zeal of this kind he once got over the natural mildness of his temper, and was heard to exclaim—"There are two griffins in my family that have been missing these three centuries, and by G-, I'll have iliem back again!"-This passion was afterwards improved into so perfect a knowledge, that in the creation of peers he was applied to, that every due ceremonial might be observed; and he never failed in his recollection on these antiquated subjects.

Tom Plummer gave then a specimen of that quickness and vivacity of parts for which he was afterwards famed. But not as a scholar, not as a poet, was he quick alone; he was quick too in the wrong ends of things, as well as the right, with a plausible account to follow it.

In fact, he was born for the law; clear, discriminating, judicious, alive, and with a noble impartiality to all sides of questions, and which none could defend better. This goes, however, only to the powers of his head; in those of the heart no one, and in the best ~85~~ and tenderest qualities of it, ever stood better. He was liked universally, and should be so; for no man was ever more meritorious for being good, as he who had all the abilities which sometimes make a man otherwise.

In the progress of life mind changes often, and body almost always. Both these rules, however, he lived to contradict; for his talents and his qualities retained their virtue; and when a boy he was as tall as when a man, and apparently the same.

Capel Loft. In the language of Eton the word gig comprehended all that was ridiculous, all that was to be laughed at, and plagued to death; and of all gigs that was, or ever will be, this gentleman, while a boy, was the greatest.

He was like nothing, "in the heavens above, or the waters under the earth;" and therefore he was surrounded by a mob of boys whenever he appeared. These days of popularity were not pleasant. Luckily, however, for himself, he found some refuge from persecution in his scholarship. This scholarship was much above the rate, and out of the manner of common boys.

As a poet, he possessed fluency and facility, but not the strongest imagination. As a classic, he was admirable; and his prose themes upon different subjects displayed an acquaintance with the Latin idiom and phraseology seldom acquired even by scholastic life, and the practice of later years. Beyond this, he read much of everything that appeared, knew every thing, and was acquainted with every better publication of the times.

Even then he studied law, politics, divinity; and could have written well upon those subjects.

These talents have served him since more effectually than they did then; more as man than boy:

For at school he was a kind of Gray Beard: he neither ran, played, jumped, swam, or fought, as ~86~~ other boys do. The descriptions of puerile years, so beautifully given by Gray, in his ode:

"Who, foremost, now delight to cleave, With pliant arm, thy glassy wave? The captive linnet which enthrall? What idle progeny succeed, To chase the rolling circle's speed, Or urge the flying ball?"

All these would have been, and were, as non-descriptive of him as they would have been of the lord chancellor of England, with a dark brow and commanding mien, determining a cause of the first interest to this country. Added to this, in personal appearance he was most unfavored; and exemplified the Irish definition of an open countenance—a mouth from ear to ear.

Lord Hinchinbroke, from the earliest period of infancy, had all the marks of the Montagu family. He had a good head, and a red head, and a Roman nose, and a turn to the ars amatoria of Ovid, and all the writers who may have written on love. As it was in the beginning—may be said now.

Though in point of scholarship he was not in the very first line, the descendant of Lord Sandwich could not but have ability, and he had it; but this was so mixed with the wanderings of the heart, the vivacity of youthful imagination, and a turn to pleasure, that a steady pursuit of any one object of a literary turn could not be expected.

But it was his praise that he went far in a short time; sometimes too far; for Barnard had to exercise himself, and his red right arm, as the vengeful poet expresses it, very frequently on the latter end of his lordship's excursions.

In one of these excursions to Windsor, he had the good or ill fortune to engage in a little amorous amement with a young lady, the consequence of ~87~~ which was an application to Lucina for assistance. Of this doctor Barnard was informed, and though the remedy did not seem tending towards a cure, he was brought up immediately to be flogged.

He bore this better than his master, who cried out, after some few lashes—"Psha! what signifies my flogging him for being like his father? What's bred in the bone will never get out of the flesh."

Gibbs. Some men are overtaken by the law, and some few overtake it themselves. In this small, but happy number, may be placed the name in question; and a name of better promise, whether of man or boy, can scarcely be found any where.

At school he was on the foundation; and though amongst the Collegers, where the views of future life, and hope of better days, arising from their own industry, make learning a necessity, yet to that he added the better qualities of genius and talent.

As a classical scholar, he was admirable in both languages. As a poet, he was natural, ready, and yet distinguished. Amongst the best exercises of the time, his were to be reckoned, and are yet remembered with praise. For the medals given by Sir John Dalrymple for the best Latin poem, he was a candidate; but though his production was publicly read by doctor Forster, and well spoken of, he was obliged to give way to the superiority of another on that occasion.

Describing the winding of the Thames through its banks, it had this beautiful line:

"Rodit arundineas facili sinuamine ripas———"

Perfect as to the picture, and beautiful as to the flowing of the poetry.

He had the good fortune and the good temper to be liked by every body of his own age; and he was not enough found out of bounds, or trespassing against "sacred order," to be disliked by those of greater age who were set over him.

~88~~ After passing through all the different forms at Eton, he was removed to Cambridge; where he distinguished himself not less than at school in trials for different literary honors.

There he became assistant tutor to Sir Peter Burrell, who then listened to his instructions, and has not since forgotten them.

As a tutor, he was somewhat young; but the suavity of his manners took away the comparison of equality; and his real knowledge rendered him capable of instructing those who might be even older than himself.



APOLLO'S VISIT TO ETON.{1}

T'other night, as Apollo was quaffing a gill With his pupils, the Muses, from Helicon's rill, (For all circles of rank in Parnassus agree In preferring cold water to coffee or tea) The discourse turned as usual on critical matters, And the last stirring news from the kingdom of letters. But when poets, and critics, and wits, and what not, From Jeffery and Byron, to Stoddart and Stott,{2} Had received their due portion of consideration, Cried Apollo, "Pray, ladies, how goes education? For I own my poor brain's been so muddled of late, In transacting the greater affairs of the state; And so long every day in the courts I've been stewing, I've had no time to think what the children were doing. There's my favorite Byron my presence inviting, And Milman, and Coleridge, and Moore, have been writing; And my ears at this moment confoundedly tingle, From the squabbling of Blackwood with Cleghorn and Pringle: But as all their disputes seem at length at an end, And the poets my levee have ceased to attend; Since the weather's improving, and lengthen'd the days, For a visit to Eton I'll order my chaise:

1 This poem, the reader will perceive, is an humble imitation of Leigh Hunt's "Feast of the Poets;" and the lines distinguished by asterisks are borrowed or altered from the original.

2 A writer in "The Morning Post," mentioned by Lord Byron, in his "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers."

~90~~

There's my sister Diana my day coach to drive, And I'll send the new Canto to keep you alive. So my business all settled, and absence supply'd, For an earthly excursion to-morrow I'll ride." Thus spoke king Apollo; the Muses assented; And the god went to bed most bepraised and contented. 'Twas on Saturday morning, near half past eleven, When a god, like a devil,4 came driving from heaven, And with postboys, and footmen, and liveries blazing, Soon set half the country a gaping and gazing. When the carriage drove into the Christopher yard, How the waiters all bustled, and Garraway stared; And the hostlers and boot-catchers wonder'd, and swore "They'd ne'er seen such a start in their lifetime before!" I could tell how, as soon as his chariot drew nigh, Every cloud disappear'd from the face of the sky; And the birds in the hedges more tunefully sung, And the bells in St. George's spontaneously rung; And the people, all seized with divine inspiration, Couldn't talk without rhyming and versification. But such matters, though vastly important, I ween, Are too long for the limits of your magazine.

Now it soon got abroad that Apollo was come, And intended to be, for that evening, "at home;" And that cards would be issued, and tickets be given, To all scholars and wits, for a dinner at seven. So he'd scarcely sat clown, when a legion came pouring Of would-be-thought scholars, his favor imploring. First, Buller stept in, with a lengthy oration About "scandalous usage," and "hard situation:" And such treatment as never, since Eton was started,

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Had been shown to a genius, like him, "broken-hearted." He'd " no doubt but his friends in Parnassus must know How his fine declamation was laugh'd at below; And how Keate, like a blockhead ungifted with brains, Had neglected to grant him a prize for his pains. He was sure, if such conduct continued much longer, The school must grow weaker, and indolence stronger; That the rights of sixth form would be laid in the dust, And the school after that, he thought, tumble it must. But he knew that Apollo was learned and wise, And he hoped that his godship would give him a prize; Or, at least, to make up for his mortification, Would invite him to dinner without hesitation." Now Apollo, it seems, had some little pretence To a trifling proportion of wisdom and sense: So without ever asking the spark to be seated, He thus cut short his hopes, and his projects defeated. "After all, Mr. Buller, you've deign'd to repeat, I'm afraid that you'll think me as stupid as Keate: But to wave all disputes on your talents and knowledge, Pray what have you done as the captain of college? Have you patronized learning, or sapping commended? Have you e'er to your fags, or their studies, attended? To the school have you given of merit a sample, And directed by precept, or led by example?"

*****

What Apollo said more I'm forbidden to say, But Buller dined not at his table that day. Next, a smart little gentleman march'd with a stare up, A smoothing his neckcloth, and patting his hair up; And with bows and grimaces quadrillers might follow, Said, " he own'd that his face was unknown to Apollo;

~92~~

But he held in hand what must be his apology, A short treatise he'd written on British Geology; And this journal, he hoped, of his studies last week, In philosophy, chemistry, logic, and Greek, Might appear on perusal: but not to go far In proclaiming his merits—his name was Tom Carr: And for proofs of his talents, deserts, and what not, He appeal'd to Miss Baillie, Lord Byron, and Scott." Here his speech was cut short by a hubbub below, And in walk'd Messrs. Maturin, Cookesly, and Co., And begg'd leave to present to his majesty's finger— If he'd please to accept—No. 5 of the Linger.{5} Mr. Maturin "hoped he the columns would view With unprejudiced judgment, and give them their due, Nor believe all the lies, which perhaps he had seen, In that vile publication, that base magazine,{6} Which had dared to impeach his most chaste lucubrations, Of obscenity, nonsense, and such accusations. Nay, that impudent work had asserted downright, That chalk differ'd from cheese, and that black wasn't white; But he hoped he might meet with his majesty's favor;" And thus, hemming and hawing, he closed his palaver.

Now the god condescended to look at the papers, But the first word he found in them gave him the vapours: For the eyes of Apollo, ye gods! 'twas a word Quite unfit to be written, and more to be heard; 'Twas a word which a bargeman would tremble to utter, And it put his poor majesty all in a flutter; But collecting his courage, his laurels he shook, And around on the company cast such a look, That e'en Turin and Dumpling slank off to the door, And the Lion was far too much frighten'd to roar;

5 An Eton periodical of the time.

6 The College Magazine.

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While poor Carr was attack'd with such qualms at the breast, That he took up his journal, and fled with the rest.

When the tumult subsided, and peace 'gan to follow, Goddard enter'd the room, with three cards for Apollo, And some papers which, hardly five minutes before, Three respectable gownsmen had left at the door. With a smile of good humour the god look'd at each, For he found that they came from Blunt, Chapman, and Neech.{7} Blunt sent him a treatise of science profound, Showing how rotten eggs were distinguish'd from sound; Some "Remarks on Debates," and some long-winded stories, Of society Whigs, and society Tories; And six sheets and a half of a sage dissertation, On the present most wicked and dull generation. From Chapman came lectures on Monk, and on piety; On Simeon, and learning, and plays, and sobriety; With most clear illustrations, and critical notes, On his own right exclusive of canvassing votes. From Neech came a medley of prose and of rhyme, Satires, epigrams, sonnets, and sermons sublime; But he'd chosen all customs and rules to reverse, For his satires were prose, and las sermons were verse. Phoebus look'd at the papers, commended all three, And sent word he'd be happy to see them to tea.

The affairs of the morning thus happily o'er, Phoebus pull'd from his pocket twelve tickets or more, Which the waiters were ordered forthwith to disperse 'Mongst the most approved scribblers in prose and in verse: 'Mongst the gentlemen honor'd with cards, let me see, There was Howard, and Coleridge, and Wood, and Lavie, The society's props; Curzon, major and minor,

7 Principal contributors to the Etonian.

~94~~

Bowen, Hennicker, Webbe, were invited to dinner: The theologist Buxton, and Petit, were seen, And philosopher Jenyns, and Donald Maclean; Bulteel too, and Dykes; but it happen'd (oh shame!) That, though many were ask'd, very few of them came. As for Coleridge, he "knew not what right Phobus had, d—n me, To set up for a judge in a christian academy; And he'd not condescend to submit his Latinity, Nor his verses, nor Greek, to a heathen divinity. For his part, he should think his advice an affront, Full as bad as the libels of Chapman and Blunt. He'd no doubt but his dinner might be very good, But he'd not go and taste it—be d—d if he would."

Dean fear'd that his pupils their minds should defile, And Maclean was engaged to the duke of Argyll; In a deep fit of lethargy Petit had sunk, And theologist Buxton with Bishop was drunk; Bulteel too, and Dykes, much against their own will, Had been both pre-engaged to a party to mill; And philosopher Jenyns was bent on his knees, To electrify spiders, and galvanize fleas. But the rest all accepted the god's invitation, And made haste to prepare for this jollification.

Now the dinner was handsome as dinner could be, But to tell every dish is too tedious for me; Such a task, at the best, would be irksome and long, And, besides, I must haste to the end of my song. 'Tis enough to relate that, the better to dine, Jove sent them some nectar, and Bacchus some wine. From Minerva came olives to crown the dessert, And from Helicon water was sent most alert, Of which Howard, 'tis said, drank so long and so deep, That he almost fell into poetical sleep.{8}

When the cloth was removed, and the bottle went round,

"Nec fonte labra prolui C'aballino, Nec in bicipiti sommasse Parnasso." Persius.

~95~~

Wit, glee, and good humour, began to abound, Though Lord Chesterfield would not have call'd them polite, For they all often burst into laughter outright.

*****

But swift flew the moments of rapture and glee, And too early, alas! they were summon'd to tea. With looks most demure, each prepared with a speech, At the table were seated Blunt, Chapman, and Neech. Phobus stopt their orations, with dignity free, And with easy politeness shook hands with all three; And the party proceeded, increased to a host, To discuss bread and butter, tea, coffee, and toast. As their numbers grew larger, more loud grew their mirth, And Apollo from heav'n drew its raptures to earth: With divine inspiration he kindled each mind, Till their wit, like their sugar, grew double refined; And an evening, enliven'd by conviviality, Proved how much they were pleased by the god's hospitality.

Thalia.{9}

9 This poem is attributed to J. Moultrie, Esq. of Trinity college, Cambridge.



ETON MONTEM.

Stand by, old Cant, while I admire The young and gay, with souls of fire, Unloose the cheerful heart. Hence with thy puritanic zeal; True virtue is to grant and feel— A bliss thou'lt ne'er impart.

I love thee, Montem,—love thee, by all the brightest recollections of my youth, for the inspiring pleasures which thy triennial pageant revives in my heart: joined with thy merry throng, I can forget the cares and disappointments of the world; and, tripping gaily with the light-hearted, youthful band, cast off the gloom of envy and of worldly pursuit, reassociating myself with the joyous scenes of my boyhood. Nay, more, I hold thee in higher veneration than ever did antiquarian worship the relics of virtu.



~97~~

Destruction light upon the impious hand that would abridge thy ancient charter;—be all thy children, father Etona, doubly-armed to defend thy ancient honors;—let no modern Goth presume to violate thy sacred rights; but to the end of time may future generations retain the spirit of thy present race; and often as the happy period comes, new pleasures wait upon the Eton Montem.{1}

1 The ancient custom, celebrated at Eton every third year, on Whit-Tuesday, and which bears the title of The Montem, appears to have defied antiquarian research, as far as relates to its original institution. It consiste of a procession to a small tumulus on the southern side of the Bath road, which has given the name of Salt-Hill to the spot, now better known by the splendid inns that are established there. The chief object of this celebration, however, is to collect money for salt, according to the language of the day, from all persons who assemble to see the show, nor does it fail to be exacted from travellers on the road, and even at the private residences within a certain, but no inconsiderable, range of the spot. The scholars appointed to collect the money are called salt- bearers; they are arrayed in fancy dresses, and are attended by others called scouts, of a similar, but less showy appearance. Tickets are given to such persons as have paid their contributions, to secure them from any further demand. This ceremony is always very numerously attended by Etonians, and has frequently been honored with the presence of his late Majesty, and the different branches of the Royal Family. The sum collected on the occasion has sometimes exceeded 800L., and is given to the senior scholar, who is called Captain of the School. This procession appears to be coeval with the foundation; and it is the opinion of Mr. Lysons, that it was a ceremonial of the Bairn, or Boy- Bishop. He states, that it originally took place on the 6th of December, the festival of St. Nicholas, the patron of children; being the day on which it was customary at Salisbury, and in other places where the ceremony was observed, to elect the Boy-Bishop from among the children belonging to the cathedral. This mock dignity lasted till Innocents' day; and, during the intermediate time, the boy performed various episcopal functions. If it happened that he died before the allotted period of this extraordinary mummery had expired, he was buried with all the ceremonials which were used at the funerals of prelates. In the voluminous collections relating to antiquities, bequeathed by Mr. Cole, who was himself of Eton and King's colleges, to the British Museum, is a note which

~98~~

mentions that the ceremony of the Bairn or Boy-Bishop was to be observed by charter, and that Geoffry Blythe, Bishop of Lichfield, who died in 1530, bequeathed several ornaments to those colleges, for the dress of the bairn-bishop. But on what authority this industrious antiquary gives the information, which, if correct, would put an end to all doubt on the subject, does not appear. But, after all, why may not this custom be supposed to have originated in a procession to perform an annual mass at the altar of some saint, to whom a small chapel might have been dedicated on the mount called Salt-Hill; a ceremony very common in Catholic countries, as such an altar is a frequent appendage to their towns and populous villages? As for the selling of salt, it may be considered as a natural accompaniment, when its emblematical character, as to its use in the ceremonies of the Roman Church, is contemplated. Till the time of Doctor Barnard, the procession of the Montem was every two years, and on the first or second Tuesday in February. It consisted of something of a military array. The boys in the remove, fourth, and inferior forms, marched in a long file of two and two, with white poles in their hands, while the sixth and fifth form boys walked on their flanks as officers, and habited in all the variety of dress, each of them having a boy of the inferior forms, smartly equipped, attending on him as a footman. The second boy in the school led the procession in a military dress, with a truncheon in his hand, and bore for the day the title of Marshal: then followed the Captain, supported by his Chaplain, the head scholar of the fifth form, dressed in a suit of black, with a large bushy wig, and a broad beaver decorated with a twisted silk hatband and rose, the fashionable distinction of the dignified clergy of that day. It was his office to read certain Latin prayers on the mount at Salt-Hill The third boy of the school brought up the rear as Lieutenant. One of the higher classes, whose qualification was his activity, was chosen Ensign, and carried the colours, which were emblazoned with the college arms, and the motto, Pro mort el monte. This flag, before the procession left the college, he flourished in the school-yard with all the dexterity displayed at Astley's and places of similar exhibition. The same ceremony was repeated after prayers, on the mount. The regiment dined in the inns at Salt-Hill, and then returned to the college; and its dismission in the school-yard was announced by the universal drawing of all the swords. Those who bore the title of commissioned officers were exclusively on the foundation, and carried spontoons; the rest were considered as Serjeants and corporals, and a most curious assemblage of figures they exhibited. The two principal salt-bearers consisted of an oppidan and a colleger: the former was generally some nobleman, whose figure and personal connexions might advance the interests of the collections. They were dressed like running footmen, and carried, each of them, a silk bag to receive the contributions, in which was a small quantity of salt. During Doctor Barnard's mastership, the ceremony was made triennial, the time changed from February to Whit- Tuesday, and several of its absurdities retrenched. An ancient and savage custom of hunting a ram by the foundation scholars, on Saturday in the election week, was abolished in the earlier part of the last century. The curious twisted clubs with which these collegiate hunters were armed on the occasion are still to be seen in antiquarian collections.

~99~~

What coronation, tournament, or courtly pageant, can outshine thy splendid innocence and delightful gaiety? what regal banquet yields half the pure enjoyment the sons of old Etona experience, when, after months of busy preparation, the happy morn arrives ushered in with the inspiring notes of "Auld lang syne" from the well-chosen band in the college breakfast-room? Then, too, the crowds of admiring spectators, the angel host of captivating beauties with their starry orbs of light, and luxuriant tresses, curling in playful elegance around a face beaming with divinity, or falling in admired negligence over bosoms of alabastrine whiteness and unspotted purity within! Grey-bearded wisdom and the peerless great, the stars of honor in the field and state, the pulpit and the bar, send forth their brightest ornaments to grace Etona's holiday. Oxford and Cambridge, too, lend their classic aid, and many a grateful son of Alma Mater returns to acknowledge his obligations to his early tutors and swell the number of the mirthful host. Here may be seen, concentrated in the quadrangle, the costume of every nation, in all the gay variety that fancy can devise: the Persian spangled robe, and the embroidered Greek vest; the graceful Spanish, and the picturesque Italian, the Roman toga and the tunic, and the rich old English suit. Pages in red frocks, and marshals in their satin 100~~ doublets; white wands and splendid turbans, plumes, and velvet hats, all hastening with a ready zeal to obey the call of the muster-roll. The captain with his retinue retires to pay his court to the provost; while, in the doctor's study, may be seen, gathered around the dignitary, a few of those great names who honor Eton and owe their honor to her classic tutors. Twelve o'clock strikes, and the procession is now marshalled in the quadrangle in sight of the privileged circle, princes, dukes, peers, and doctors with their ladies. Here does the ensign first display his skill in public, and the Montem banner is flourished in horizontal revolutions about the head and waist with every grace of elegance and ease which the result of three months' practice and no little strength can accomplish.

Twelve o'clock strikes, and the procession moves forward to the playing fields on its route to Salt-Hill. Now look the venerable spires and antique towers of Eton like to some chieftain's baronial castle in the feudal times, and the proud captain represents the hero marching forth at the head of his parti-coloured vassals!

The gallant display of rank and fashion and beauty follow in their splendid equipages by slow progressive movement, like the delightful lingering, inch by inch approach to St. James's palace on a full court-day. The place itself is calculated to impress the mind with sentiments of veneration and of heart-moving reminiscences; seated in the bosom of one of the richest landscapes in the kingdom, where on the height majestic Windsor lifts its royal brow; calmly magnificent, over-looking, from his round tower, the surrounding country, and waving his kingly banner in the air: 'tis the high court of English chivalry, the birth-place, the residence, and the mausoleum of her kings, and "i' the olden time," the prison of her captured monarchs. "At once, the sovereign's and ~101~~ the muses' seat," rich beyond almost any other district in palaces, and fanes, and villas, in all the "pomp of patriarchal forests," and gently-swelling hills, and noble streams, and waving harvests; there Denham wrote, and Pope breathed the soft note of pastoral inspiration; and there too the immortal bard of Avon chose the scene in which to wind the snares of love around his fat-encumbered knight. Who can visit the spot without thinking of Datchet mead and the buck-basket of sweet Anne Page and Master Slender, and mine host of the Garter, and all the rest of that merry, intriguing crew? And now having reached the foot of the mount and old druidical barrow, the flag is again waved amid the cheers of the surrounding thousands who line its sides, and in their carriages environ its ancient base.{2} Now the salt-bearers and the pages bank their collections in one common stock, and the juvenile band partake of the captain's banquet, and drink success to his future prospects in Botham's port. Then, too, old Herbertus Stockhore—he must not be forgotten; I have already introduced him to your notice in p. 59, and my friend Bob Transit has illustrated the sketch with his portrait; yet here he demands notice in his official character, and perhaps I cannot do better than quote the humorous account given of him by the elegant pen of an old Etonian {3}