ociferous songs in rapid succession,
including "The Chesapeake and Shannon," a song lately introduced in
honour of old Brooke; and when they come to the words,

"Brave Broke he waved his sword, crying, Now, my lads, aboard,
And we'll stop their playing Yankee-doodle-dandy oh!"

you expect the roof to come down. The sixth and fifth know that "brave
Broke" of the Shannon was no sort of relation to our old Brooke. The
fourth form are uncertain in their belief, but for the most part hold
that old Brooke was a midshipman then on board his uncle's ship. And the
lower school never doubt for a moment that it was our old Brooke who led
the boarders, in what capacity they care not a straw. During the pauses
the bottled-beer corks fly rapidly, and the talk is fast and merry, and
the big boys--at least all of them who have a fellow-feeling for dry
throats--hand their mugs over their shoulders to be emptied by the small
ones who stand round behind.

Then Warner, the head of the house, gets up and wants to speak; but he
can't, for every boy knows what's coming. And the big boys who sit at
the tables pound them and cheer; and the small boys who stand behind
pound one another, and cheer, and rush about the hall cheering. Then
silence being made, Warner reminds them of the old School-house custom
of drinking the healths, on the first night of singing, of those who are
going to leave at the end of the half. "He sees that they know what he
is going to say already" (loud cheers), "and so won't keep them, but
only ask them to treat the toast as it deserves. It is the head of the
eleven, the head of big-side football, their leader on this glorious
day--Pater Brooke!"

And away goes the pounding and cheering again, becoming deafening when
old Brooke gets on his legs; till, a table having broken down, and a
gallon or so of beer been upset, and all throats getting dry, silence
ensues, and the hero speaks, leaning his hands on the table, and bending
a little forwards. No action, no tricks of oratory--plain, strong, and
straight, like his play.

"Gentlemen of the School-house! I am very proud of the way in which
you have received my name, and I wish I could say all I should like in
return. But I know I shan't. However, I'll do the best I can to say what
seems to me ought to be said by a fellow who's just going to leave,
and who has spent a good slice of his life here. Eight years it is, and
eight such years as I can never hope to h