One great difficulty seems to be that boys will only, as a rule, combine for purposes of evil.  In matters of virtue a boy has to act for himself; and I confess, too, with a sigh, that a set of virtuous boys banding themselves together to resist evil and put it down has an alarmingly priggish sound.

The most that a man can do at present, it seems to me, is to have good sensible servants; to be vigilant and discreet; to try and cultivate a paternal relation with all his boys; to try and make the bigger boys feel some responsibility in the matter; but the worst of it is that the subject is so unpleasant that many masters dare not speak of it at all; and excuse themselves by saying that they don’t want to put ideas into boys’ heads.  I cannot conscientiously believe that a man who has been through a big public school himself can honestly be afraid of that.  But we all seem to be so much afraid of each other, of public opinion, of possible unpopularity, that we find excuses for letting a painful thing alone.

But to leave this part of the subject, which is often a kind of nightmare to me, and to return to my former point; I do honestly think it a great misfortune that we tend to produce a type.  It seems to me that to aim at independence, to know one’s own mind, to form one’s own ideas—­liberty, in short—­is one of the most sacred duties in life.  It is not only a luxury in which a few can indulge, it ought to be a quality which every one should be encouraged to cultivate.  I declare that it makes me very sad sometimes to see these well-groomed, well-mannered, rational, manly boys all taking the same view of things, all doing the same things, smiling politely at the eccentricity of any one who finds matter for serious interest in books, in art or music:  all splendidly reticent about their inner thoughts, with a courteous respect for the formalities of religion and the formalities of work; perfectly correct, perfectly complacent, with no irregularities or angular preferences of their own; with no admiration for anything but athletic success, and no contempt for anything but originality of ideas.  They are so nice, so gentlemanly, so easy to get on with; and yet, in another region, they are so dull, so unimaginative, so narrow-minded.  They cannot all, of course, be intellectual or cultivated; but they ought to be more tolerant, more just, more wise.  They ought to be able to admire vigour and enthusiasm in every department instead of in one or two; and it is we who ought to make them feel so, and we have already got too much to do—­ though I am afraid that you will think, after reading this vast document, that I, at all events, have plenty of spare time.  But it is not the case; only the end of the half is at hand; we have finished our regular work, and I have done my reports, and am waiting for a paper.  When you next hear I shall be a free man.  I shall spend Easter quietly here; but I have so much to do and clear off that I probably shall not be able to write until I have set off on my travels.—­Ever yours,