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CHAPTER LXII.

THE CARTHUSIAN RÉGIME.

THE Charterhouse movement was complex, and was not wholly original. Shrewsbury was taking the lead, Its men were distinguishing themselves at the universities, chiefly in Latin and Greek composition and in minute scholarship. If Charterhouse was to compete, it had to run in the same lines. It was a fair race, and an intelligible object, just what takes with the British public. So fish of all kinds were caught by that net. I was but one of a great rush to Charterhouse; I went in with the flow, and left with the ebb, for the tide was then on the turn. The rush was almost that ugly one which Conservatives used to dread. The new arrivals rapidly coming in were of many grades, from all parts of England, and literally from hundreds of schools, for all had been at one private school, many at two, three, or four. They brought with them every conceivable folly. The process of purging began very soon, for some of these boys had already been expelled once or twice before. It was done quietly. Boy after boy disappeared, and few knew the reason why.

In my own house of about thirty, there were the sons of noblemen, of baronets, of county gentlemen of high standing, of merchants, of India directors, of clergymen, of well-known tradesmen. The aristocratic element so much prevailed that there arose a cry that Russell was favouring his brother-in-law, to the

disadvantage of the other houses. Of course he had to fill his sister's house. As I have related above, I was myself an overflow out of 'Watkie's' full house into Lloyd's empty one. We were only seven the first -that is, the summer-term. No Long Room had yet been built, and Mr. Lloyd was not yet married. We lived with him as with a private tutor. He got up conversations amongst us, and gave us such dinners as he might have given to a small party of friends. The novelty of our position excited the curiosity of the school, particularly as it was rumoured that Lloyd's house was to be very select. The first question put to me on the Green was what we had for dinner, and we had to confess to surloins, roast veal, asparagus, pease, cauliflowers, tarts, and other dainties. Indeed, it was like living at home, and to some of us much better.

The boys of the other houses immediately reported the state of things to their own housekeepers, and demanded like fare. They might not succeed in this, but they might succeed in bringing us down to their own level. Lloyd had to go on the rest of the term as he had begun. So the rest of the school, particularly the gown-boys, took the law in their own hands. We had to pass through their house, as through a dark and narrow defile, into the cloister. Here the bigger gown-boys arranged themselves with whips, and cut at us as we ran through, to pay us off for our good dinners.

When we returned after 'St. Bartholomew's holidays,' we found that in six weeks a Long Room had been built in the yard behind, and that the house

was already nearly full-in a few days overflowing. Our regimen and diet were now that of the whole school. I believe that diet went on some old tradition. A year or two ago I saw in the papers an indignant letter by some parent, who complained of the pauper dietary inflicted on his son at the Blue-Coat School. It was exactly that which I and my aristocratic schoolfellows had at Charterhouse.

The plan was good, but, like all plans, liable to failures and defeats. As a rule, and with certain exceptions, we had milk and water for breakfast. All London milk was then open to suspicion. We had 'rolls,' hot or cold, as we pleased, with butter. The latter was generally insipid, but not worse. The rolls I much suspect of alum, and credit with an injurious effect on the digestive powers. Most of the flour of these days was heavy, if not quite unsound, and alum covers many sins. I remember a lady at Easter time examining some schoolchildren. 'What do they put in the dough to make it rise?' The question happened to be addressed to the child of the village baker, and the answer was, 'Alum.' The dinner consisted of beef or mutton, potatoes and cabbage; puddings twice a week.

No doubt it was assumed that the boys would get pastry and fruit enough at the tuck-shop. Most of them did, and I daresay it was a wholesome change. The little boys got tarts as long as their money held out. The bigger boys and the cricketers consumed quantities of thin biscuits and capillaire. What was this? Indeed, I am not perfectly sure I have the right word. The thing I mean was a thick

syrup combining acid and sweet like an acidulated drop. Poured into a glass of water it made lemonade, and by the addition of powders became effervescent; on a hot summer afternoon the demand was im

mense.

ten.

The five years I was at Charterhouse I never once went near the tuck-shop. I did not like spending my money that way; but perhaps it told still more that I was shy of the saucy crowd lounging and chaffing before the old lady's counter. At six we had our choice of bread and butter with tea, or bread and cheese with beer. We had nothing after, though the elder boys did not go to bed till half past Throughout the day those who had money had various opportunities of supplementing this diet. They could not at dinner, for the master presided. They could at breakfast, till a day which I remember with horror. Many of us were qualifying the hot milk and water with extract of coffee or cocoa, well sugared, and had potted meats and marmalade. Suddenly the door opened, and poor Lloyd, whose heart I have no doubt bled all the time, appeared, ordered the servant to bring a tray, and swept the tables of these luxuries. No doubt some of the little boys had complained to their parents, and it

had come round.

The son of a Cabinet minister whom I have mentioned in my 'Reminiscences' was always full of diplomacy, but he was once foiled. He received a large present of game. How to cook it was the question. He had made acquaintances among the old pensioners, one of whom, I suppose, with the help

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of the bed makers or laundresses, could manage it. A game pie was the easiest and safest form. It was arranged that the young diplomatist should bring a couple of friends to the pensioner, who should ask a friend on his part, and the five were to feast together. At the appointed time the diplomatist sent word to the pensioner that he and his own friends were watched, and they could not leave their house. So the pie was to be smuggled into it, and he gave directions accordingly. The pie appeared, and with it a note to the effect that the pensioners were sorry to have to divide the pie, but under the circumstances the best division was for them to take the inside, leaving the gentlemen the outside--which, indeed, they found to be their share.

Of the diplomatist's failure on this occasion I was reminded some years after by a little item in the police reports. With a young and congenial friend he had gone to a dinner-party some miles out of town, and had had the use of a private carriage. The pair had armed themselves with pea-shooters, which were very formidable weapons. On their return they kept up a continuous fire at the shop-windows right and left, smashing pane after pane. One shopkeeper instantly called to his shopboy to run after that carriage and seat himself on the footboard behind. This he did, and thenceforth the two gentlemen inside were 'dancing in a net.' The boy had a double gratification. He saw all the fun, and had the revenge. When they alighted at my lord's door he recognised them, took their names and the number of the house to his master, who had them