I go to Eton—New Boy Baiting—My House Master—Mr. James’s
“Jokes”—My Room at Eton—Some Eton Masters—A Disorderly
Form—Lacaita’s Silk Hat—“Billy” Portman
There was a certain _cachet_ attached to an Etonian in those days which I
have not found with boys of any other school, assuredly not in England.
I may almost say not in Europe, except, perhaps, with those of the
Theresianum, in Vienna. I might almost repeat what the well-known German
Socialist, Ferdinand Lassalle, wrote to a Russian lady, in comparing the
German women of the middle class with those of the aristocracy, which
latter class might stand for Etonians of those days in comparison with
boys of other schools: “The women have not that aroma of amiability, that
_cachet_ of good manners, which is indispensable for every woman who has
lived in aristocratic circles. There are certainly exceptions, but they
are very rare.”
In the autumn of 1866 my father took me to Windsor, where we put up
at the White Hart Hotel. Then we walked to Eton and entered the first
master’s house we came to, that of the Rev. C. C. James. It stood near
the wall of a cemetery, which some of the rooms overlooked. My father
informed the master that he had come to place me at the school, but
really did not know one house from another, and that, if Mr. James would
care to take me into his house, he would be very glad to leave me in
his charge. Mr. James replied that it was unusual for him to take a boy
of whom he knew nothing, without having his name entered beforehand, or
without some recommendation. But whether it was that my father contrived
to talk him over, or that he thought he would run the risk of my turning
out a bad bargain, after Mr. James had asked my age and where I had been
to school, it was decided that I should stay at his house. My father, I
think, was the most pleased, for, from what Mr. James had said, he had
been anticipating some difficulty in finding a house for me at all, as at
certain masters’ houses a boy’s name had to be entered years beforehand.
But my father generally trusted to chance in everything, and what seemed
impossible to most people was for him often an easy matter.
Mr. James showed us over the boys’ rooms, and, though I should have
much preferred having one looking out on Windsor, with a fine view of
the Castle, I had to be content with the end room in the front of the
house, which had a view of the college chapel, and was quite close to
the cemetery. My father told him that he did not think I was afraid of
ghosts, when Mr. James told him that the cemetery was of very ancient
date, and no longer used for burial purposes. He then showed us the beds,
which were closed up in the daytime, in such a way as to present the
appearance of cupboards, and said that he would get me a bureau similar
to that which every boy had there.
My father soon took his departure and went back to the “White Hart,”
upon which I was handed over to the housekeeper, who invited me to sit
in her room, and gave me some tea. I remained there until the evening,
when some of the boys began to arrive. As might be expected, I was far
from being at ease, and felt like someone entering on a new existence,
in a completely different world from the one in which he had lived. The
housekeeper inquired whether I did not know some of the boys at James’s,
and told me their names. To which I replied that I did not know even one
of them, though I knew some boys at other houses. At what houses they
were, however, I could not say. She said that the boys I mentioned were
higher in the school than I was likely to be placed, and that they would
not condescend to speak to so humble a person as myself, and that I must
make acquaintances of my own age, which I would soon do.
I had not long to wait before some of the boys arrived, and presently
came into the housekeeper’s room. But I do not recollect one of them
speaking to me then, and shortly afterwards I set out for Windsor, as my
father had got permission for me to dine with him at the “White Hart,”
before he left for London, on his way back to Paris.
When I returned to James’s alone, I went into the housekeeper’s room,
in which I found several boys, who regarded me with a curiosity which
I found decidedly embarrassing. The first who spoke to me was a very
nice-looking boy of sixteen, named Gaskell, who was in the Remove. He
asked me my name, and whether I thought I should pass into the Fourth
Form. I replied that I did not feel at all sure of doing so. At that
moment another new boy, named Temple, with fair hair and a very plain
face, entered the room, to whom Gaskell put the same questions as he had
to me. Temple did not appear over-burdened by modesty, and had no doubt
whatever about passing into the Fourth Form.
“Of course I shall,” he declared confidently, putting his hands in his
trousers pockets and looking very important.
Suddenly some other boys came in.
“Here are some new fellows,” said Gaskell.
“What are they like?” asked the others. “Let’s have a look at them.”
“This chap here—Temple his name is—seems devilish confident about
himself; expects to get into the Fourth Form at once.”
“I say,” exclaimed a fair, good-looking boy, who was bigger than Gaskell
and taller, and whose name was John H. Locke, “so you expect to pass
easily? Where do you come from?”
“From London,” replied Temple, colouring slightly.
“From what school?”
“I was educated at home by a tutor.”
“Indeed! Well, you give yourself airs of importance that won’t do here, I
can tell you. We’ll soon knock them out of you.”
Temple put his hands in his trousers pockets and shrugged his shoulders,
while his not very prepossessing countenance assumed an expression that
was almost diabolical.
“You look like the devil,” said Locke, laughing.
“So he does,” exclaimed some of the others; and one boy added:—
“I say, Satan, what an ugly mug you have!”
Temple darted a glance of withering scorn at the speaker, but could not
trust himself to reply.
“That’s a good name for him,” remarked Locke. “Mug, I say, Mug, mind you
pass your exam. well, and don’t look so fiendish when one speaks to you,
for it won’t pay.”
Saying which he took his departure, leaving Temple to digest the advice
he had given.
The exam. came off in due course, when Temple failed to qualify for the
Fourth Form, and was put into the Lower School; while I passed into the
Lower Fourth, which was more than I expected to do. All the boys at
James’s were pleased, for they had taken a great dislike to Temple. The
latter, however, was not in the least disheartened at not taking the
Fourth Form, but put his hands in his pockets, shrugged his shoulders,
and looked at the other boys as contemptuously as before. He was at once
given to Alexander, the Captain of the Oppidans, as a fag, while I was
allotted to Locke. Alexander never spoke to Lower boys, except to fag
them, so Temple had merely to do what he was told. I had a very easy time
of it with Locke, who had other fags besides. Sometimes Locke would ask
me to sit down in his room and talk to him, when he would often give me
fruit and bonbons. He was about eighteen, in the Sixth Form, and rowed in
the _Monarch_; but C. R. Alexander was Captain of the House and Head of
the School, or what is termed Captain of the Oppidans, to distinguish him
from the Captain of the Collegers, nicknamed Tugs, who are boys on the
foundation and obliged always to wear a gown.
A boy named James Doyne, who became a great friend of mine, messed with
me, that is to say, we took our breakfast and tea together in his room,
as it was larger than mine. I often did his French lessons for him out
of school, and helped him with others, as he was in the Lower School.
Sometimes, he bought beefsteaks for breakfast, and I would cook them
downstairs while he was in school, as he was often kept behind by his
master. So occasionally, when I happened to be very hungry, I would not
only eat my own steak, but a part of his as well, which used to make him
very angry.
Doyne told me once that his father knew a gentleman who, on being
introduced to another, said:—
“You are the son of a tailor, I believe, are you not?”
“Yes,” was the reply, “and I will take your measure.”
The tailor’s son never rested until he had ruined the other.
It seems a great pity that duelling is not allowed in England, as it
would oblige some men in this country to mend their manners, even if the
duel were restricted to the use of the _épée_ alone, and were to cease at
the first sign of blood. Anyway, it would be better than the senseless
actions for libel, which cost a great deal of money, and are quite
unknown in other civilized countries.
I had very little to do with my tutor, Mr. James, being up to another
master in school. He was a Mr. Luxmoore, a young, rather good-looking
and very pleasant man. My tutor only took the Fifth Form pupils of his
own division, but at times he would see how the boys in his house were
progressing in their studies. Mr. James was a rather tall and thin man,
about thirty-seven, with a long, fair, almost reddish beard and no
moustache. His eyes were blue, and he had a habit of looking away from
people while he talked, and when he became nervous he used to stammer,
but not very perceptibly. Although he could not be called handsome,
he was by no means bad-looking, having a very pleasant expression and
beautiful teeth.
We had to be in school at 7 a.m. in the summer, and 7.30 a.m. in the
winter, and the lesson lasted an hour. Then we went back to our rooms for
breakfast, or, rather, had to go to our fagmaster and cook his breakfast
first. But Locke hardly ever required this service of me, as he generally
made another of his fags do it for him. At 9.15 we all had to attend
Chapel, which lasted half an hour. Then school again till 10.30, and from
11.15 till 12. The two hours after this were called, “after twelve,”
which one usually spent in one’s tutor’s pupil-room. Dinner was at 2
p.m., then school again from 2.45 till 3.30, and then from 5 to 6. After
this the boys were free till the time for “lock-up,” which changes with
the time of year. In the summer it was at 8.45. A half-holiday was just
the same until dinner, but in the afternoon “absence” was called at 3
p.m. in the winter and at 6 p.m. in the summer. “Absence” is a call-over
of the names, which takes place in the school yard. Its object was to
prevent boys from going too far away, and ensuring that they should be
back in time for “lock-up.” When a master did not come for “absence,” it
was termed a “call”; and the boys only waited five or six minutes for him.
In addition to the work done in school and pupil-room, we had work to do
in our own rooms, especially on a Sunday, when we had Sunday Questions to
write out. The half-holidays were on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays,
and on Sundays, besides attending Chapel, we had the Sunday Questions to
answer. This usually occupied us several hours.
There was a boy at James’s who was then in the Remove, called Craven, a
tall, dark, good-looking fellow, who dressed well and had an umbrella
with a death’s-head handle carved in ivory, which he never opened, even
when it poured with rain, from fear that he would not be able to fold it
again so neatly as it was then done up. He always wore the most expensive
silk hats he could buy, and habitually scented himself with patchouli.
One rainy day, when all James’s Lower boys were in his pupil-room, in the
house, Mr. James called up Craven, and said to him:—
“Craven, why don’t you sign your name in full: Fulwar John Colquilt
Craven?”
“I do, sir,” answered Craven.
“But you don’t—merely Fulwar Craven. Don’t you own the John Colquilt?”
All the boys began to titter, and Craven laughed and said:—
“I suppose I don’t, sir.”
“Why do you stupid boys giggle?” exclaimed Mr. James. “There is nothing
to laugh at because Craven won’t own his name, John Colquilt, which is a
very nice one.”
The boys went on laughing all the more, at which the master was furious,
and cried:
“I will make you all write out a book of the _Iliad_ if you don’t stop
giggling at once.”
This threat had the desired effect, and gravity was restored; but it did
not last very long. A good-looking boy named Ady, who was at Miss Evans’s
Dame’s house, but was a pupil of my tutor, and who wore a lot of gold
charms on his watch-chain, came up to Mr. James to ask some questions,
when the latter said:—
“Ady, I wonder you don’t wear bracelets with all those jingling things;
you are more like a girl.”
Thereupon all the boys began to titter again, while Ady blushed, but did
not make any reply. On returning to his seat, however, he put out his
tongue at Mr. James, who happened to be looking in another direction, and
then smiled, when the boys began to laugh with a vengeance.
“Stop that laughter,” screamed the exasperated master, his eyes sparkling
with wrath, “or I’ll have all of you swished in turn. I won’t stand this
nonsense any longer. First of all with Craven, who is scented like a fast
lady, and then with Ady, who is covered with jewellery like another; I
might just as well keep a girls’ school.”
The giggling now became downright laughter, which the boys were quite
unable to restrain. At last, Mr. James began to see that he had made a
joke, which flattered his vanity, so he smiled, and said:—
“Yes, even the boys are laughing at you both.”
This was too much for his audience, who roared with laughter, until,
after a while, the master said:—
“Now, I think, we have laughed enough; I hope it will be a lesson to them
both.”
Craven and Ady nearly split their sides with laughing, as well as the
others.
“I see I can do nothing with you to-day,” remarked Mr. James, “these
laughing moods are very distressing; it upsets the whole of the lessons.
I must be more serious with you, and not permit myself even a joke. I see
it plainly more and more every time.”
At last the merriment subsided, but presently some of the boys began
laughing again.
“What is the joke now?” exclaimed the master. “Tell me, for I should like
to know. I can see nothing whatever to laugh at now.”
“Please, sir,” answered Craven, “you make a joke, and you won’t even
allow us to laugh at it.”
“Oh, well! if it is that that you are laughing at, I suppose it is all
right,” said Mr. James, who was gradually regaining his good-humour, and
presently the boys were dismissed. Afterwards there was great fun made at
his expense, Craven and Ady being highly amused.
Mr. James was nicknamed “Stiggins” by the boys who had been with him
at Eton, and, although unpopular out of his house, he was not so in
it. There were much more disagreeable tutors at Eton at the time of
which I am speaking, some of them perfect horrors. Mr. James was a
good-hearted man, and was very kind at times, though he was very brusque
in his manner, and in the habit of speaking his mind without the least
reservation. He had no particular favourites, but, on the other hand,
he did not take any violent dislikes, and was just enough, apart from
occasional sallies against certain boys. These he indulged in under
the impression that he was being witty, and not infrequently the jokes
he made were at his own expense. He had a good memory and could recite
innumerable verses from Greek and Latin poets, but he was a poor orator.
He was a good chess-player, and often played with the boys, giving them a
queen and sometimes a rook as well, and generally beating them. Sometimes
he played with another master, Mr. Wayte, a middle-aged man, with a
grey beard, who could play twenty-five games of chess at the same time
blindfolded, and win most of them. Mr. James once beat Mr. Wayte, after
which he would never play with him again, wishing to be able to say that
the last time he played with him he had succeeded in gaining the victory.
I often played chess with my tutor, on which occasions he usually gave
me a queen. Sometimes I managed to beat him, and once when I had been
successful, he said to me:—
“You have beaten me, and I have beaten Wayte, who is one of the finest
players in Europe. So, in winning the game to-day, you have something to
be proud of.”
We always tried to make our rooms at James’s as comfortable as possible.
I had a fancy at that time for pictures of horses, and bought a set
of steeplechase ones, by Alken, printed in colours and published by
Ackermann. I had also a picture of Hermit, the Derby winner of 1865, by
Harry Hall, which was also printed in colours. In the summer, like the
other boys, I had geraniums and other flowers in a large green wooden
box, which was made to cover the length of my window-sill. I spent,
however, more of my time in Doyne’s room, which was nearer the road, and
farther away from the cemetery. It was a more cheerful room, containing
several arm-chairs. Besides, we always messed together and took our meals
there, and so I looked on the room almost as being my own. Alexander and
Locke had two rooms each. The latter had quite a collection of silver
cups, which he had won at Eton, and his sitting-room was decorated with
numerous trophies of the Boats, arranged against the wall, from the light
blue of the _Victory_ and the dark blue of the _Monarch_ to the cerise
of the _Prince of Wales_ and the blue of the _Britannia_. I can only
remember entering Alexander’s room once. It was also adorned with the
colours of the Eleven and silver cups won at cricket and racquets, as he
was Captain of the Eleven and President of “Pop.” “Pop” is the name given
to the Eton Society, to which only boys in the Sixth Form and the Upper
Fifth can belong.
The occasion on which I entered Alexander’s room was on a Sunday. He
opened his door, and called: “Lower boy!” and, as I happened to be on
the landing, he said that he must send me to make a copy of his Sunday
Questions, which were always written up outside St. George’s Chapel at
Windsor. It was a dreary walk, for, as it was Sunday afternoon, all the
shops were, of course, closed. I made a copy of the Questions in pencil,
and, on my return, left them in Alexander’s room. At eleven o’clock that
night, he came and woke me up, to ask if I could read some word I had
copied, which I had to confess I could not. He went away, but returned to
my room an hour later, and, waking me up again, said he thought he could
make a guess at the word we had been unable to make out, and asked me if
it were not correct. I then suddenly remembered that it was the right
word, when he laughed and went out. This was the only time I was ever
sent to copy out Sunday Questions, as Alexander always, as a rule, sent
his own fags to do this, and Locke, whose fag I was, hardly ever gave
me anything to do. I was, in consequence, very sorry when he left Eton,
which he did very shortly afterwards for Trinity College, Cambridge.
Alexander went up to King’s.
One half I was up to a master called Austin Leigh, who was in the habit
of speaking so softly that we could scarcely hear a word he said in
school. So when he spoke, I always had to guess what he said. One day
he asked me to construe a passage, which I did, when he corrected me,
saying:—
“I told you what to say.”
“Please, sir, I could not hear exactly.”
“Are you deaf?”
“No, sir, but I did not hear exactly.”
“Then, for not listening, you will please write out the lesson as a
punishment. Do you hear now?”
“Yes, sir.”
I hated being up to Austin Leigh, for I never could hear, as he always
spoke in a whisper somewhat like the hissing of a serpent.
There was another master, who thought himself rather good-looking, as
he had regular features; but he had yellowish hair, was inclined to
baldness, and his figure was lanky and awkward. This master was fond of
making very tame jokes in school. If we laughed at them, it was all
right, but the boys who ignored his jokes he punished. He insisted on
calling Lord Edward Somerset by the name of Samson, but once when he
called upon “Samson” to stand up, no one rose. He then turned to Lord
Edward Somerset, and said:—
“Why did you not stand up when I told you to do so?”
“Because you never told me, sir.”
“I did; your name is Samson, isn’t it?”
“No, sir; it’s Somerset.”
“Well, anyhow, you knew that I meant you.”
Somerset made no reply, and the master said:—
“For disobedience you will write me out this chapter of ‘Xenophon!’”
“Very well, sir.”
Among the numerous masters at Eton with whom I had little or nothing to
do, those whom I remember best are: Mr. Stephen Hawtrey, who was a very
agreeable man; Mr. Hale, a mathematical master, nicknamed, on account of
his whitish hair, “the Badger,” who was also very pleasant; the Rev. W.
Dalton, another mathematical master, who had very full lips and a reddish
face, and went by the _sobriquet_ of “Piggy”; the Rev. Joynes, who had
somewhat the appearance of a weasel, and had great difficulty in keeping
his division in order; Mr. Cornish, a fair-haired man, who was rather
disagreeable at times; and Mr. Cockshot, also a mathematical master, who
was bright and pleasant. The Rev. Durnford, nicknamed “Judy,” I only knew
by sight, and the same was the case with Mr. Arthur James, my tutor’s
brother, who was an exceptionally pleasant man.
All the masters had some peculiarity, and it took some time to get used
to their ways, as they were all so different from one another. Just,
however, as a boy was beginning to understand a master the half came to
an end, and, after the holidays, he would probably be sent up to quite a
different kind of man. For each master took a separate division, and was
promoted like the boys from one division to another.
The most popular master was the Rev. Edmund Warre, afterwards Head
Master and Provost of Eton. He was a good-looking, fair man, who wore
spectacles, and, besides being one of the cleverest of the masters, was
a very fine oar, and always superintended the coaching of the Eight. He
used to try to interest the boys up to him in school in a subject, as
Herr Kirchhofer did at Frankfurt. I remember once, during a lesson in
geography, he said that Austria-Hungary was a nation which would one day
break up, since it consisted of too many nationalities, the link between
which was not sufficiently strong to be permanent. Upon another occasion,
he recommended us to read “The Last of the Barons,” by Lord Lytton,
which he said was one of the best historical novels ever written, and I
remember that some of us followed his advice.
There was a good deal of jealousy amongst certain masters, who did
not pull together. Mr. Oscar Browning was unpopular with some of his
colleagues, though he was very much liked by the boys at his house and
those up to him in school. There can be little doubt that the dislike
entertained by certain masters for Mr. Browning was due to jealousy, as
he was cleverer than the majority of them, and he was certainly very
witty, and at times rather sarcastic. I was up to him in school one half,
and I think, on the whole, he was the pleasantest master I was ever up
to, since he used to enliven the tedium of school hours by his witty
remarks, occasionally making fun of some of us, but in such a nice,
pleasant way, that we all enjoyed the joke, even those who were the cause
of the merriment. It was almost impossible to be late for school with
Mr. Browning, as he generally arrived late on the scene himself. Now and
again, however, he reversed the usual order of things, and then those who
had counted on his late arrival were caught and punished.
Mr. R. A. H. Mitchell, the famous cricketer, was a master of the Lower
School. My friend Jim Doyne was up to him, and said that he was very
popular with the boys.
There was another master, Mr. St. John Thackeray, who had no authority
whatever over the boys up to him in school, who invariably made fun
of him, and jeered at him all the time. I was up to him one half, when
I found it quite impossible to learn anything, owing to the constant
disturbance, which was quite overpowering. I used to come in late
continually when up to Mr. Thackeray, as I knew it did not much matter.
One day, however, he said to me:—
“You are half an hour late this morning!”
“Please, sir, I overslept myself.”
“But you always oversleep yourself.”
“Please, sir, I couldn’t help it; I was so tired.”
“What made you so tired...?”
Here the other boys began to laugh, and someone said aloud:—
“He’s always so slack.”
“Which boy spoke?” asked Mr. Thackeray angrily. A dead silence ensued.
“I _will_ know which boy spoke just now. If the boy doesn’t come forward
at once, I shall punish all the division.” Upon this two or three boys
said:—
“It was I, sir.”
“Which of you was it?” asked Mr. Thackeray.
“I, sir,” sounded from different parts of the room.
“It’s really too bad; the whole division shall be punished then,” said
the master.
While he was occupied in making a note of this, a book was hurled across
the room, at which there was great laughter. Mr. Thackeray was furious.
“I shall have to report the whole division for bad conduct if I don’t
know at once who threw that book,” he cried.
“It was I,” said one boy.
Then, a moment afterwards, another voice said:—
“It was I, sir.”
“But it could not have been both of you. Which of you was it?”
“Me, sir,” said the first boy who had spoken.
“Then you will please write out the chapter we are reading”—then,
correcting himself—“or, rather, which we ought to be reading.”
For a few minutes the lesson proceeded quietly, though on the least
pretext there would be shouts of laughter. Mr. Thackeray entirely forgot
to punish the other boy and myself; only the one who had hurled the
book was punished. Every day with Mr. Thackeray was similar to this
one, sometimes more amusing, sometimes less so, but always very noisy
indeed. He spoilt the boys for other masters, as, being accustomed to do
as they liked with him, they would come late into school when they were
up to others, who would send them up to be swished on a repetition of
the offence. I was never swished at Eton during all the four years I was
there.
The late Earl Grosvenor, who, when Viscount Belgrave, was at Eton with
me, was a very good-looking boy, with fair hair, but he wore jackets that
were sometimes too short for him, and it was the same with his trousers,
as he had grown out of them. One day, when he sat in school on a form in
front of me, during a lesson by Mr. Henry Tarver, the French master, a
boy sitting next me, seeing Belgrave’s shirt, which was plainly visible
between his jacket and trousers, pulled it right out altogether. Belgrave
turned round angrily, thinking at first that it was I who had taken this
liberty with his shirt, when he saw that the culprit was a boy whom he
knew well. Nevertheless, he was very confused and had great trouble in
adjusting his protruding garment, as it was necessary to do it in such a
way as not to attract the attention of Mr. Tarver, who would certainly
have inquired into the matter and meted out condign punishment to the
offender.
There is a French saying that small events often interest great minds. I
hope that this may be so, in which event there will be some excuse for
my mentioning this incident, which struck me at the time as being rather
ludicrous, though I cannot say whether others may be of the same opinion.
Lord Grosvenor, after he left Eton, was fond of driving an engine, and
I am told that he often drove the train between London and Holyhead for
pleasure.
His name reminds me of a good story that I once heard at Eton about his
grandfather, the Duke of Westminster. The latter, one day, was told by
his groom of the chamber that the dress-coat that he wore was getting
very shabby. The Duke asked to see it, and then told the man that he
might order a new one for himself. “But,” added the thrifty nobleman,
“you may let me have this old coat; it will do quite well for me to
wear.” The Duke of Atholl, who was a first cousin of my grandfather, had
also rather a contempt for dress, and my mother was told by the latter
that, when an old man, he was often mistaken in the street for a beggar,
and had pence offered him.
There was a boy named Lacaita at Eton, who, when he first came, wore a
most extraordinary hat. The lower part was much broader than the upper,
so that the hat was not unlike a loaf of sugar. I think he must have
imported it from Italy. However, if I remember rightly, it was very
speedily battered out of any shape at all, for it was an innovation which
pleased none of the boys, who were only too ready to make a football of
it, as they generally did of anything they happened to take a dislike to,
and particularly a silk hat.
Doyne used frequently to invite boys from other houses to tea with us
in his room. They were mostly those whom he knew “at home,” that is to
say, away from Eton, and who were friends of his people. The Hon. John
FitzWilliam, who was in the same division as myself, often came, as he
was a relative of his, as well as Lord Trafalgar, who was in the Lower
School, and Lord Mandeville, who afterwards became Duke of Manchester.
The last-named was a very good-looking boy, with very dark, curly hair;
he was full of fun, and I liked him very much, though I only met him
when he came to tea with us, as he was lower down in the school and at a
different tutor’s house from myself.
A boy named Charles Rice Hodgson, in the same division as I was, was my
greatest friend at first. He was at Vidal’s, a Dame’s house. He was a
very handsome boy, with rather fair hair and blue eyes, nearly perfect
features, and a beautiful complexion. He used to dress very well and
always wore a button-hole—a rose or a carnation in summer—and usually
scented himself. He was very clever and had a good deal of swagger, and
was a favourite with the bigger boys at Vidal’s, who often used to walk
with him, which was strongly disapproved of by some of the masters. I
often helped him out of a difficulty; and sometimes, when he had not
learned his lesson over night, I would prompt him in a low voice to
construe it, as I always sat next to him in school. He left Eton very
suddenly, at which I was quite distressed, as he had always been so much
with me, and I liked him more than any other boy, and had been in his
company the day before he left. A more charming boy than Hodgson I have
never known; but he was conceited about his looks, for he was one of the
best-looking boys, if not the best-looking, at Eton in those days.
Another boy at the same Dame’s house as Hodgson was Charles D. Robertson
Williamson, who was considered to be the best-looking boy then at Eton.
He was higher up in the school than I was, and, though his tutor, Mr.
Johnson (Cory, the author of “Ionica”), liked him very much, some of the
other masters did not approve of his putting on so much side and being
so often with bigger boys. At Lord’s, during the Eton and Harrow match,
I happened quite accidentally to make the acquaintance of Williamson’s
aunt. She was only eighteen, and bore a most extraordinary resemblance
to her nephew, with the same beautiful face, the same short upper lip,
the same large, round, hazel eyes, the same beautifully shaped mouth, the
same delicate nose, slightly, in fact almost imperceptibly, tilted, and
the same brown hair; and she was of the same height as he was. She spoke
to me without knowing me at all, saying:—
“I want to keep my nephew with me a day or two longer. Do you think I can
do so?”
“You must ask his tutor; no doubt he will allow you to do so,” I
answered, thinking that he could not possibly refuse her.
“Well, I will try.”
With which, Williamson’s aunt went off in search of Mr. Johnson, and
presently returned, looking very pleased, and said:—
“Mr. Johnson has given the permission I wanted. I am so happy!” And she
clapped her hands together with delight.
I did not know Williamson to speak to before then, not being so high in
the school as he was, and I met him for the first time when he came later
in the day to meet his aunt in the Grand Stand at Lord’s.
Once, when Doyne and I were driving in a hansom from Lord’s after the
Eton and Harrow match, he caught sight of the Hon. E. W. B. Portman, and
said to me:—
“Do you mind giving Billy Portman a lift?”
We made room for him between us, which was an easy enough matter in those
days, though in years to come it would have been quite impossible, for
he grew so stout that he weighed seventeen stone, and I rather fancy Jim
Doyne was even heavier.