All the particulars of the ensuing narration are strictly matters of
fact, except the proper names of places and persons, as we used to say
at Rood Priory, better known, in its time, as Roberts’s, better still as
Old Bob’s; the Establishment for Young Gentlemen—much as Old Bob would
have been enraged to hear it called so—which I am about to describe.
Rood Priory was so called from standing near the site of that monastery.
Though really a private school, it was conducted after the manner of a
public one. Situated in the same Cathedral Town with the College of St.
Joseph, it maintained, indeed, a sort of rivalry with that foundation. I
was sent to Rood Priory—or Old Bob’s—about twenty-four years ago. The
school had then been kept by Old Bob for, I suppose, half a century, and
had existed long before. Old Bob’s was one of those genuine specimens of
the good old school, in which scarcely anything whatever was taught
except the Latin and Greek languages; and they were inculcated
principally by the rod. Its scholars, when first I became one of them,
mustered nearly a hundred; their number had been greater still. The
youngest of us were not more than five or six years old; some of the
eldest were verging upon twenty, and might have shaved without
affectation. We were divided into six classes, or as we called them,
Parts: of which the sixth was the lowest. Our range of study extended
from the rudiments of Latin, in the last Part, to Virgil, Horace,
Homer’s Odyssey and Iliad, Terence, and Greek Tragedy, in the second and
first. The first was also called the senior Part. It was allowed various
peculiar privileges, and its members, the senior boys, were never
flogged, except for high crimes and misdemeanors. They were a sort of
monitors, and had to keep order in the school and dining-hall; duties
which devolved on them by turns. In fact, Old Bob made them act as his
police. The first four Parts did Latin verses, to the composition of
which the greater portion of two days in each week was devoted. The
general impression at Rood Priory was that Latin versification was the
highest possible achievement of the human intellect. Annually, the
senior boys competed for a prize in Latin Hexameters. The successful
performances were recited at our Public Speaking, which took place at
the close of the Midsummer half year. Their Latinity was perfect for the
best of reasons; they were arrangements of phrases which had been really
penned by Ovid and Virgil.
The native Muse was cultivated a little, too. We were required to commit
portions of the ‘Elegant Extracts’ to memory: and the senior boys also
wrote English prize-poems, which were clever imitations of the
mannerisms (only) of Pope and Dryden.
The ‘usual branches of a solid English education’ were certainly in a
rather stunted condition at Old Bob’s. Arithmetic was taught ostensibly;
we had to write out a given number of sums weekly, done by what means no
matter, in a book. One boy, I recollect, by the particular request of
his parents, learned mathematics; that is to say, getting Euclid’s
propositions by rote. Geography was sometimes mentioned among us—in
connexion with the Argonautic Expedition for instance, or the Garden of
the Hesperides. English History we read in classes during the fortnight
before the vacations, Old Bob probably conceiving it expedient that his
scholars should, if questioned by their friends on the subject, appear
to know that there was some difference between William the Conqueror and
Oliver Cromwell. Sometimes Milton’s Paradise Lost was substituted for
our historical reading, namely, for Goldsmith’s Abridgment. We received
rather less instruction in Astronomy than may be presumed to have fallen
to the share of Galileo’s judges, and we utterly ignored the use of any
globes except those in use at football and cricket. Some few, at their
friends’ express stipulation, learned French, Drawing, and Dancing, on
sufferance, and grievously against the grain of Old Bob, who considered
that modern languages and accomplishments could be acquired during the
holidays, or picked up in after-life anyhow; and who suspected that at
Rood Priory they were mere pretexts for shirking severer lessons.
Certainly these studies involved no whipping, and were interspersed with
considerable amusement, at the expense of the French teacher at least,
and his countryman the dancing-master.
Our school-house was a large detached building of red brick,
slate-roofed, lighted by tall round-arched windows, and entered by a
porch, in which vestibule to our Temple of Learning inert or peccant
neophytes were castigated. The hall, or refectory, was also detached. We
slept, some at Old Bob’s private residence, others in adjoining or
adjacent buildings connected with it. The schoolroom, for about a fourth
of its height, was wainscoted with dark oak, richly carved with names,
each letter of which had been engraven at the risk of a flagellation.
The desks, similarly adorned, extended on either side along the wall at
right angles with it, interrupted, on that to the left of the entrance,
by the two fire-places, senior and junior. Everything among us was thus
distinguished; we had a senior and junior field, or playground; a senior
and junior fives-court; and a senior, secundus, and junior bridge on the
river in which we used to bathe. The boys of every particular Part sat
together; each had his own private compartment of the desk, termed his
‘scob.’ A list of the names of the occupants of each desk, in the order
of their rank, was pasted on the wall over it. The junior, that is the
lowest, had the care of the lighting materials, and was thence styled
the ‘Candle-custos.’ There were three seats for the masters; one at the
top of the school, another at the bottom, and a third at the side,
between the two fire-places. They resembled Professors’ chairs, and
during lessons we were stationed in front of them. A large time-piece
above the middle chair regulated our operations. Down the whole length
of the school, in front of either series of desks, ran a form, the two
forms enabling us to be marshalled along them, on occasion, in a couple
of lines, leaving an open space in the middle wherein Old Bob could walk
to and fro with his cane.
The order of things thus constituted was governed supremely by the
Reverend James Roberts, M.A., Senior, otherwise Old Bob; secondarily, by
his son, the Rev. James Roberts, M.A., Junior, behind his back called
James. In subordination to them we had three other classical masters,
and an English master, as he was termed. The business of the latter was
to teach writing and arithmetic, to call us of a morning, to distribute
among us our ‘battlings,’ or pocket-money, and to summon us at the end
of play-hours into school. His hair was light and woolly, he cleared his
throat with a bleating noise before he spoke, he had a grave sleepy
expression, and prominent teeth; and, of course, we called him ‘Sheep.’
He was a very honest, worthy fellow, but he talked fine; he could not
sound the letter h, nor utter a Greek or Latin word without, if
possible, making a false quantity; his duties (being English) were
looked upon as rather menial, and the science which he professed was
accounted mercantile and vulgar; wherefore, on the whole, our somewhat
aristocratic community despised this excellent gentleman very much.
Old Bob, in the face, was rather like Socrates: in form, save as to the
shoulders, he strongly resembled Punch. His similitude, however, to the
sage, was merely physiognomical, unless the ability to have disputed
with him in his own vernacular may be added to it. He was intimately
versed in what are termed the liberal sciences, though I doubt if, in
his case, they had the mollifying effect ascribed to them in the Eton
Latin Grammar. With no other kind of science was he acquainted, except
that of managing his own affairs. In this, truly, he was a tolerable
proficient, and had made money by his school. But if his acquirements
were limited, they were sound; and his intellect, though not
comprehensive, was strong. He would sometimes say to a clever but
eccentric boy—for he used to thee-and-thou us like a Quaker—‘Thou hast
every sense, my boy, but common sense.’ Of this faculty, in a practical
acceptation, he possessed a fair share himself. Old Bob had a fine sense
of justice, too, in his way, and he administered his flogging system
reasonably and equitably—as far as rationality or equity were consistent
with such a system. There was also not a little benevolence in Old Bob’s
composition. It is true that his eyes could not help twinkling when he
caught a boy in any mischief, and contrived, to hit him, neatly, on a
tense and sensitive part. But I do not think that he flogged
principally, or in very great measure, for the love of flogging. He had
a traditional belief in the virtues of the rod. He looked upon birch as
a necessary stimulant, not knowing that stimulants, whether in the
mental or animal economy, are not ordinarily necessary. Then, on the
other hand, he was very attentive to the health and comfort of his boys.
He took especial care that our meat and other provisions should be of
the very best kind; and if his scholars were well flogged, they were
also well fed and well cared for.
Old Bob, when first I knew him, was nearly eighty years of age, but hale
and robust still. Divers legends were extant respecting the strong man
whom he had knocked down in his youth. He dressed the character of the
old schoolmaster, from the shovel-hat and powdered bald head to the
gaiters, as correctly as if he had proposed to act it in a farce. His
voice, I may here remark, was much like Mr. Farren’s in Sir Peter
Teazle; only it was slower, deeper, more powerful, and abounded in
strong and prolonged emphasis. He was very fond of spouting—in an
academical way—and I think I see him now teaching us to gesticulate, by
putting himself in an attitude, and giving us an idea of Cicero.
In general, Old Bob was good-tempered, patient, and forbearing, not
punishing without fair warning, and then with deliberate dignity. But on
peculiar provocation, as by anything like the exhibition of a mutinous
spirit, especially on the part of a big boy, he lost all control of
himself. His face grew pale, his eyes twinkled ominously, he would puff
his cheeks out, and his whole form appeared actually to swell. Then,
pulling up his nether garments—a habit with him when in a rage—and his
voice shaking with passion, he would exclaim, ‘Take care, Sir. Let me
not hear thee say that again. If thou dost, I’ll whip thee. I’d whip
thee if thou wast as high as the house! I’d whip thee if thou wast as
big as Goliath!! I’d whip thee if thou wast an angel from Heaven!!!’ And
it was generally understood among us that he would have done it in
either case.
A flogging at the hands of Old Bob was ordinarily the consequence of a
series of offences or shortcomings. Sometimes a pupil, often within a
brief period, had been guilty of a false concord or quantity. Sometimes
he had been caught out of bounds, or had in some other way infringed Old
Bob’s ordinances. Sometimes he was denounced for misconduct or idleness
by one of the masters. A very common case of punishment would occur
thus: Old Bob would suddenly call for the ‘Classicus’ of a part which
was under a junior master. The ‘Classicus’ was a register of our
respective performances in learning. The eye of Old Bob would light on a
succession of bad marks standing opposite the name of some unlucky
fellow. He then gradually raised his eyebrows, and began to whiff and
whistle. Presently he repeated the delinquent’s name aloud, and
proceeded, whistling and whiffing still at each word, to read out the
adjoined record, ‘Bradshaw!’ he would cry; ‘Bradshaw!—Hi! hi!
hi!—_Malè—malè—malè—mediocriter—malè—quam pessimè—quam pessimè—quam
pessimè_——I’ll whip thee!’ And he put down the book, and pushed his
spectacles up on his forehead. ‘Bring me the rod!—Bradshaw!—Come here to
me, my worthy, good Sir. I’ll _whip_ thee. _I_ will! Go into the porch!’
So saying, he gave the culprit a shove at the nape of the neck, which
almost sent him sprawling headlong. ‘Rod—boy—the rod! Jones—you—Brown
you—go in.’ These boys were to keep the porch doors. ‘Robinson—go too.’
The fourth boy was wanted to sustain the drapery of the victim. ‘And
here—you, Sir—Smith!—you—go in as well.’ This last was some youth who
had been misbehaving himself lately, and whom Old Bob compelled to
witness the infliction, that he might profit by it in the way of
example. They all went into the porch, and Old Bob, hitching up his
smallclothes, followed. ‘My poor boy,’ Old Bob would say, when he had
got the criminal ‘hoisted,’ ‘I am sorry for thee. I told thee how it
would be. I said I would whip thee if thou didst not behave better,
and—_I will_.’ Swish!
The chastisement generally lasted about five minutes. Old Bob never
inflicted more than half-a-dozen stripes, but he waited a considerable
time between them, partly that each might have its full effect, partly
that he might improve the occasion for the edification of the other
delinquent. ‘You’ll be the next, Sir,’ he would tell the latter: ‘You’ll
be the next!’ A prediction usually soon fulfilled.
Old Bob had a very high idea of the force of example. Incredible as it
may appear, it is a fact that he would send a troublesome pupil to see
an execution. I once witnessed his doing this. The boy in question, was
incorrigibly mischievous, and given to roguish pranks. Addressing him by
name, Old Bob said, ‘There is a man to be hanged this morning. Go and
see him, my boy. Thou art a bad boy, and it will do thee good.
You,’—turning to an elder boy,—‘you go with him and take charge of him.’
Truly this was carrying out the principle of the ‘good old school.’
For high crimes and misdemeanours the penalty was flogging in public.
Swearing and profanity were the chief of these. At prayers we used to
kneel along the two forms in the middle of the school. The
‘candle-custodes’ alone remained at their desks during evening-prayer
time. One of these young gentlemen, once upon a night, got a copper cap,
and employed his devotional leisure in fixing it on the head of a nail.
The moment the final ‘Amen’ was uttered, before we could rise, he
exploded the cap. The report was terrific in the silence of the large
schoolroom. Old Bob insisted on the name of the transgressor being
surrendered, and flogged him instantly on the spot. His rage on this
occasion was extreme, and was mingled with a strange agitation. The next
day this was explained. ‘What was it thou didst let off last night?’
demanded Old Bob of the irreverent youth, who was one of his
particularly bad boys. ‘A percussion cap,’ was the answer.
‘Per-per-what?’ ‘Percussion cap, Sir.’ ‘Hum!’ said Old Bob, musingly, ‘I
won’t expel thee _this_ time, Sir,—I won’t _expel_ thee.’ He evidently
did not know what a percussion cap was, whilst, dimly understanding that
it was not exactly a firearm, he seemed relieved from the suspicion that
his scholar had attempted his life.
Such implicit confidence had Old Bob in birch, that he imagined he could
absolutely whip us up Parnassus, and he very often flogged a boy for not
being able to do his verses. ‘I’ll make thee a poet, my boy,’ he used to
say, ‘or the rod shall.’ Flagellation formed so essential a part of his
system, that he had a large quantity of birch-broom kept constantly at
hand in an old cabinet, which may have belonged to the Monastery of Rood
itself. The rod-boy—one of the scholars appointed to the office—not only
‘hoisted’ the sufferer, and had the custody of the birch, but also
manufactured the rods: and soundly was he drubbed by us, if he did not
carefully knock the buds out of them. I think James—who shared the power
of the scourge—insisted that his rods should not be tampered with. At
any rate, the skin upon which he operated looked afterwards as if it had
received a charge of small shot. Such correction, it is obvious, might
be repeated a little too often; and it was a rule of Old Bob’s that no
boy should be flogged more than once a week. Some, however, were flogged
regularly as the week came round. I recollect one boy with whom this was
the case for a long time: owing, I believe, to his sheer inability to
construe Virgil. I heard of him in after-life; oh, Heaven! such a stupid
man!
A minor species of correction was inflicted with the cane, generally on
the hands. Old Bob confined himself to two ‘spats’ on the tips of the
fingers; or, as he called them, ‘summits of the digits.’ In spite of the
sufferer’s attempts to dodge him, he generally hit these sensitive
points exactly, to his manifest delight. James struck from four to six
blows across the palm with all his strength. I have seen a little boy
cast himself on the floor and writhe in the agony of this torture.
James, at the time to which I am referring, appeared to be upwards of
fifty. Perhaps he looked older than he was, through powdering his hair.
He was much more hasty and irascible than his father. He punished
violently and promptly. Old Bob, on the other hand, would sometimes say,
‘I won’t whip thee now, my boy; but I _will_ whip thee. Not now—no. I’ll
let it hang over thy head.’ And so he did, occasionally, for some weeks;
and whipped him at last. James was rather a better scholar, and somewhat
worse informed in other respects than Old Bob. He had small regard for a
plodding student, and great partiality for anyone who could make neat
verses. It being a tenet with him that not a moment should ever be
wasted, he insisted on our taking books into the hall to read during
meals. In conformity with this principle, it was said that, having a
benefice in the neighbourhood at which he preached weekly, he used to
drive there, reading Horace, with his whip stuck upright in his vehicle.
These itinerary studies ended, as might have been foreseen, in a serious
accident; his horse running at its own sweet will over a cow in the
road, and spilling him. He had a preposterous antipathy to the least
noise, and his appearance in the school produced an awful silence
immediately. James’s greatest defect was the absolute dependence which
he placed on the word of the inferior masters. In answer to a complaint
from one of them, unlike Old Bob, he would never hear a boy speak, but
punished him instantly. Yet he was naturally of a kind disposition; and
his alacrity in flogging, arose partly from impatience and
irritability—partly from his having been brought up in that faith.
The severities practised in Old Bob’s little kingdom, were not
unattended with the effects which they sometimes have in larger
monarchies. We had an under-master, whom I will call Bateson; a
north-countryman, with a disgusting brogue, only less repulsive than his
unwholesome looks and malicious temper. He was continually—as though
from a savage delight—procuring some boy or other to be punished. Not
long before my time, his conduct had created a regular rebellion. A
conspiracy, headed by the senior boys, was formed against him. An
opportunity was taken one evening when he was alone in the school. By an
arrangement preconcerted with the ‘candle-custodes,’ most of the lights
were extinguished. Books, ink-bottles, missiles of all kinds, were flung
at his head. The larger boys set upon him and gave him a severe beating.
Had not the school-door, which they had premeditatedly fastened, been
forced upon, there is no knowing to what extent they would have
maltreated him. As it was, he was shockingly bruised and disfigured. The
expulsion of some of the ringleaders, and the flogging of several of the
other rioters, was the issue of this transaction. Bateson, untaught by
what he had suffered, continued to be as spiteful as ever. His delight
was to give us tasks beyond our ability, that we might be chastised for
not doing them; and he stimulated our exertions by menaces and abuse.
Often did we vow to thrash this dull spiteful pedant, if we caught him
anywhere after we should leave school; and some of us, I think, had left
it a pretty long time before the resolution thus formed, was abandoned.
Consistently enough with his notions about the rod and the gallows, Old
Bob not only allowed, but encouraged his boys to settle their disputes
by fighting. After the battle he usually enquired who was the aggressor;
and if Right had triumphed, he often gave the victor a shilling. Two
boys who, for talking in the hall at breakfast, had been made to stand
on the form together, contrived to quarrel while thus exalted, and came
to blows. Old Bob being present with his cane (misdoers were commonly
‘given up’ to be ‘spatted’ at breakfast-time), rushed instantly from his
table to the scene of action. But instead of using the instrument of
correction to visit this aggravated breach of discipline, he actually
employed it in keeping order during the combat, forgetting the offence
in the delight which it afforded him. Our fistic encounters were managed
strictly in accordance with the laws of the ‘noble art of self-defence.’
They had the regular accessories of seconds, and a ring, added to the
superintendence of ‘Sheep,’ and sometimes, too, the paternal countenance
of Old Bob himself! They were divided into rounds, they lasted as long
as real prize-fights, and issued, mostly, in similar results to the
combatants, who generally pummelled each other so severely that they
were forced to retire afterwards to the sick-room. There, strangely
enough, they often became great friends. I recollect one desperate
contest occurring between the son of a celebrated comic actor and a boy
whose family resided in the neighbourhood. The spectators from the
public road which skirted the field—they were mostly farmers on
horseback, it being market-day—discovered who were the combatants, and
exhorted them by name to ‘go it.’ The heroes, I think, fought for
upwards of an hour. Both were severely punished—of course I do not mean
by Old Bob. On another occasion I was present when a boy in fighting was
knocked down. His leg, as he fell, bent under him and was broken. I
heard the bone snap.
It will be inquired whether Old Bob’s arrangements included anything
that could counteract, or modify, at least, the not very humanising
influences of his general system. There was plenty of what is termed
religious instruction—mingled always with infusion of birch. We had
prayers morning and evening, and a collect in the middle of the day read
by one of the senior boys; and as stripes would have been the penalty of
a smile, if discovered, our devotions were characterised by great
decorum. Before and after dinner we had a Latin grace, pronounced by a
young gentleman standing on a form, but a senior boy was liable to be
called upon to say it at his bodily peril. The essential difference
between the two graces lay in the words ‘_sumus sumpturi_,’ ‘we are
about to receive,’ and ‘_accepimus_,’ ‘we have received.’ As not all who
could repeat these words attended precisely to their meaning, the
distinction was occasionally disregarded, with what consequences may be
imagined. Two boys, morning and evening, each elevated on a desk, read a
chapter in the New Testament a-piece, as loud as they were able, whilst
Old Bob generally kept bidding them to speak louder and slower. The rest
had to follow them—the higher Parts, in the Latin and Greek
Testament—and take up the text when called on, under the usual
liability. It was sometimes a fearful thing to have to read from the
desk. St. Paul, in the Second Epistle to Timothy, alludes to one
Alexander the Coppersmith. There was a ragamuffin who used to hang about
the field-palings, on whom we had conferred this appellation, which,
consequently, to our mind had a most ludicrous association. When the
fatal name was pronounced, every breath in the school was held to stifle
a laugh. Imagine the agony of the unlucky boy obliged to read it in all
gravity, deliberately, and, as Old Bob required, ‘loud and slow.’
The loud and slow style of delivery was especially insisted upon in our
elocution. Old Bob made all his boys recite. He caused the speaker to
mount a table at one end of the schoolroom, he, Old Bob, sitting at the
other. The orator had first to perform a gymnastic feat, consisting in
putting himself in the first position, and stooping till his fingers’
ends nearly touched his instep—this was the Rood Priory regulation-bow.
He then made his speech, lifting his arms up and down alternately,
which, if he failed to do with vigour, Old Bob bellowed for ‘Action!
Action!’ The mounting on the table was intended to cure us of
bashfulness. On my first appearance on that conspicuous altitude, my
brain reeled, and I was near falling off for very giddiness.
All this training was a preparation for the public speaking already
mentioned. We spoke from a stage erected at the upper end of the school.
Our auditors at this exhibition were our friends and the gentry of the
neighbourhood. We recited verses, such as ‘Hohenlinden,’ and ‘The Burial
of Sir John Moore,’ ‘Edward and Warwick,’ ‘Brutus and Cassius,’ and
divers scenes from other poets and dramatists, ancient and modern.
Whatever was the character, the speaker appeared in full dress. Once,
the part of ‘Mawworm’ was assigned to me. I enacted it with my hair
frizzled, in an olive coat, black waistcoat, white trousers, silk
stockings, and pumps.
The great attention paid by Old Bob to our acting, seems to indicate
that he supposed we were, for the most part, intended for the church,
the bar, or political life. What opinion then, of his system, are we to
form, judged of by its results? Did it contribute to the formation of
any great minds or distinguished characters? At this moment I know of
but three persons of any eminence, pupils of his, who have reflected
credit upon their master. One of these was a celebrated statesman, now
deceased, who, however, completed his education at Eton. Another was a
Greek scholar of some repute, whether as yet surviving or not, I am
ignorant. The third is a living ornament to his College. This last had a
natural aptitude for learning, and inasmuch as he never needed the
stimulus of the rod, he cannot be considered indebted for his
attainments to that element in Old Bob’s method of tuition. Not one
single stupid or even idle boy, within my experience, did Old Bob with
all his flogging improve in the least; and his severities, I am sure,
disgusted some, possessed of good abilities, with study. For my own
part, I never was flogged; but the fear of being so kept me continually
in misery: and as long as I was subject to it, hindered my advancement,
prevented me from learning anything with pleasure, and caused me to look
upon my tasks as impositions, and to perform them with ill will, in a
sulky, perfunctory manner. I shall never forget the torment I suffered
in cramming long lessons in Greek Grammar, under terror of the rod.
Exert myself as I would, I could not get anything dry well by rote;
whereas, poetry, or whatever else interested me, I remembered without an
effort. This was lucky for me; my good performances were a set-off
against my bad. I knew then, as well as I know now, how worse than
foolish and idiotic was the notion of whipping a boy into
parrot-learning. I perceived then as clearly as I see at this present
time, that memory is no single power of the mind; that there is as much
of feeling in it as of intellect; that we best remember the ideas which
we delight to dwell upon; and that the proper way of imparting knowledge
is to render it as pleasant as possible, or if this cannot be done, to
instil it by degrees: to administer the medicine whose flavour you
cannot disguise, in minute doses. I say, I knew all this: judge then
with what different sentiments from those presented in the catechism, I,
a boy, looked upon my pastors and masters, who knew it not.
But I can speak positively as well as negatively as to the efficacy of
the flogging system. I was fast sinking into despair of my capacity, and
arming myself with dogged obstinacy against the consequences, when Old
Bob gave up the school. His former pupil, the Statesman, during his
brief tenure of office, had secured him a prebendal stall. Rood Priory
then came under the sole management of James, assisted by one of his
brothers. On his retirement, Old Bob wisely dismissed Bateson, with whom
he would not trust James. As wisely, he engaged as second master a
teacher in every respect Bateson’s opposite. This gentleman made our
work as easy to us as he could; his manner towards us was kind and
affectionate; he endeavoured to interest us in our studies; and he urged
us to exertion by recommending proficiency for reward, instead of giving
up dulness for punishment. Under this management, I, previously
considered a dunce, rose rapidly to the first Part of the school; and my
career terminated in my writing the English Prize Poem, a pretty good
burlesque—though I intended it seriously—on the more moody portions of
the writings of Lord Byron.
James did not preside over the concerns of Rood Priory for more than a
year-and-a-half. At the end of that time he abdicated in favour of his
brother. But the latter was quite incompetent to wield the rod of Old
Bob. He permitted a degree of license among his subjects which soon
demoralised his empire. He then abruptly attempted to restore
discipline. The result was a rebellion. His scholars combined against
him in a regular ‘barring out.’ The mutiny was quelled, and the
principal insurgents were flogged. But the affair became public, and
fatally damaged the school; which instantly fell off, and, as certain
writers phrase it, after a few convulsive struggles, ceased to exist.
And so there was an end of Rood Priory; one of the last, I am happy to
believe, of the genuine ‘good old schools.’
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