rather out of place. Indeed,
the very young master, though usually earnest in his work, must be a sage
indeed if he can avoid talking to the elder boys about the problems that
interest him, and so forcing their minds into precocious attitudes. The
advantage of Eton boys used to be, perhaps is still, that they came up to
college absolutely destitute of "ideas," and guiltless of reading
anything more modern than Virgil. Thus their intellects were quite
fallow, and they made astonishing progress when they bent their fresh and
unwearied minds to study. But too many boys now leave school with
settled opinions derived from the very latest thing out, from the newest
German pessimist or American socialist. It may, however, be argued that
ideas of these sorts are like measles, and that it is better to take them
early and be done with them for ever.

While schools are reformed and Latin grammars of the utmost ingenuity and
difficulty are published, boys on the whole change very little. They
remain the beings whom Thackeray understood better than any other writer:
Thackeray, who liked boys so much and was so little blind to their
defects. I think he exaggerates their habit of lying to masters, or, if
they lied in his day, their character has altered in that respect, and
they are more truthful than many men find it expedient to be. And they
have given up fighting; the old battles between Berry and Biggs, or
Dobbin and Cuff (major) are things of the glorious past. Big boys don't
fight, and there is a whisper that little boys kick each other's shins
when in wrath. That practice can hardly be called an improvement, even
if we do not care for fisticuffs. Perhaps the gloves are the best
peacemakers at school. When all the boys, by practice in boxing, know
pretty well whom they can in a friendly way lick, they are less tempted
to more crucial experiments "without the gloves."

But even the ascertainment of one's relative merits with the gloves hurts
a good deal, and one may thank heaven that the fountain of youth (as
described by Pontus de Tyarde) is not a common beverage. By drinking
this liquid, says the old Frenchman, one is insensibly brought back from
old to middle age, and to youth and boyhood. But one would prefer to
stop drinking of the fountain before actually being reduced to boy's
estate, and passing once more through the tumultuous experiences of that
period. And of these, _not having enough to eat_ is by no me