in the room above his own.  He went up and found a big boy and a little boy.  They denied having any pistol.  The monitor returned to his studies, again was sure he heard a shot, went up, and found the little boy dead.  The big boy had been playing the William Tell trick with him, and had hit his head instead of the apple.  That is the legend.  Whether it be true or false, all boys will agree that the little victim could not have escaped by complaining to the monitor.  No.  Death before dishonour.  But the side not so seamy of this picture of school life is the extraordinary power of honour among boys.  Of course the laws of the secret society might well terrify a puerile informer.  But the sentiment of honour is even more strong than fear, and will probably outlast the very disagreeable circumstances in which it was developed.

People say bullying is not what it used to be.  The much abused monitorial system has this in it of good, that it enables a clever and kindly boy who is high up in the school to stop the cruelties (if he hears of them) of a much bigger boy who is low in the school.  But he seldom hears of them.  Habitual bullies are very cunning, and I am acquainted with instances in which they carry their victims off to lonely torture cells (so to speak) and deserted places fit for the sport.  Some years ago a small boy, after a long course of rope’s-ending in out-of-the-way dens, revealed the abominations of some naval cadets.  There was not much sympathy with him in the public mind, and perhaps his case was not well managed.  But it was made clear that whereas among men an unpopular person is only spoken evil of behind his back, an unpopular small boy among boys is made to suffer in a more direct and very unpleasant way.

Most of us leave school with the impression that there was a good deal of bullying when we were little, but that the institution has died out.  The truth is that we have grown too big to be bullied, and too good-natured to bully ourselves.  When I left school, I thought bullying was an extinct art, like encaustic painting (before it was rediscovered by Sir William Richmond).  But a distinguished writer, who was a small boy when I was a big one, has since revealed to me the most abominable cruelties which were being practised at the very moment when I supposed bullying to have had its day and ceased to be.  Now, the small boy need only have mentioned the circumstances to any one of a score of big boys, and the tormentor would have been first thrashed, and then, probably, expelled.

A friend of my own was travelling lately in a wild and hilly region on the other side of the world, let us say in the Mountains of the Moon.  In a mountain tavern he had thrust upon him the society of the cook, a very useless young man, who astonished him by references to one of our universities, and to the enjoyments of that seat of learning.  This youth (who was made cook, and a very bad cook too, because he could