the morbid specimens of youthful infamy only too frequently paraded by
the equally unreal sensationalism of to-day to meet the cravings of a
vitiated taste.

_The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's_ is the kind of book we should place
with confidence in the hands of our own boys when leaving the home
shelter, whether for school or the sterner after-battle; and we cannot
conceive of the parent who, having read it with care and pleasure, as we
have done, and knowing at the same time anything of the stress and
strain of daily life, would not, with gratitude to the author, gladly do
the same. With all their faults, Oliver Greenfield and Wraysford are
splendid boys, of just the fibre that the Church needs, and the world
cannot afford to do without; and yet their school career proves by no
means a bed of roses. To drift with the current is proverbially easy;
to seek to stem it manfully, and steer by the stars, may, and often
does, lay one open to misapprehension or envy, and all the ills that
follow in their train; yet--

"God is God, and right is right,
And truth the day must win;
To doubt would be disloyalty,
To falter would be sin."

Our heroes had their full share of trouble--what real hero has not?--but
they come out of the ordeal purified and strengthened, with nobler
aspirations after duty, and tenderer thoughts of helpfulness towards
those needing, if far from seeking, their succouring arm.

How all this comes about it is not for us to tell. Readers will find
that out for themselves, and thank us for allowing them, unaided, to do
so. The school cricket match, the grand football struggle, the
ever-memorable prize-day--these are matters that no alien pen may touch.
Our prayer is that God may abundantly bless the book to the building up
in our schools and families of strong Christian characters, who in the
after days shall do valiant service for Christ and humanity.

G.A. Hutchison.

CHAPTER ONE.

THE NOTICE BOARD.

The four o'clock bell was sounding up the staircase and down the
passages of Saint Dominic's school. It was a minute behind its time,
and had old Roach, the school janitor, guessed at half the abuse
privately aimed at his devoted head for this piece of negligence, he
might have pulled the rope with a good deal more vivacity than he at
present displayed.

At the signal there was a general shuffling of feet and uproar of
voices--twelve doors swung open almost simultaneously, and next mo