Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 4).djvu/417

 "He had a way essentially his own of getting rid of little boys whom he invited to breakfast. You know, little boys have a peculiar habit of becoming inconveniently glued to a chair. The hospitable 'head' would quietly go up to the youngster—who was perhaps in the middle of another muffin—and say very gently, and with paternal kindness, 'And must you really go?' The little boy invariably went."

The name of Archbishop Longley is one to conjure with. Many a merry anecdote is associated with this estimable guide of youth.

There are no boys on earth more fond of a joke than Harrovians, and no lads more clannish. It seems two boys were out very late one night, and the worthy Longley was also enjoying a midnight ramble. The Harrow boys, by-the-bye, wear tail coats—à la the old English gentleman. Longley saw the two lads, and gave chase. He caught up one, and just got hold of one of his coat tails. The tail came off in the master's hands. "Ha! ha!" thought Longley, "I'll catch him to-morrow—he'll only have one tail to his coat." But he had reckoned without his host. In the morning every boy turned up with a single tail to his coat!

Longley's nickname at Harrow was Jacob. About this time a very popular game was played at the school called "Jack o'Lantern," but the neighbouring farmers complained that indulging in it injured their crops and field produce, as the boys must needs have a free run across country. It was therefore forbidden. A few lads, however, still managed to get out at night, and the boys in the Head Master's house—Longley's abode—used to let themselves down from a room on the first floor by a rope. One night, the boys had safely got inside, when Longley, in passing, caught sight of the suspended rope.

"I'll surprise them," thought he, and with commendable intention gave a pull at the cord. The boys evidently thought one of their number was still out, and began "hauling in." Up went Longley—higher and higher, until his face got level with the window. Then his stern countenance appeared.

"Jacob, by Jingo," cried the boys, and the Head Master was dropped into his own laurel bush below. He never asked any questions!

Mr. Welldon, too, has experienced what may be aptly termed school "surprises."

Some time ago a not altogether comforting spectacle met his view. It seems the boys in a certain form pretended they wanted a window in the roof of their room shut. The obliging master had a ladder brought, mounted it, and endeavoured to shut the window. Some enterprising youth removed the ladder, and when the Head Master of Harrow entered there was the unfortunate master clinging for dear life to the frame-work.

Just as we were in the midst of happily enjoying these little reminiscences a servant brought in a letter.

"Excuse me one moment," said Mr. Welldon. But the next instant the letter was in my hands. It was a letter written by Lor Palmerston to the Honble. Elizabeth Temple, Hanover Square, when a schoolboy at Harrow; and sent now to the Head Master. Here are the contents:—