no other head-coverings were ever seen except tall hats and college-caps. Straw hats were worn only by the two eights, first and second, cricketing-caps only by the eleven, and not by them except when en route for water' or 'fields.' For football in 'green no head-covering was worn.

CHAPTER VIII

'OUT OF BOUNDS'

'Going out'-The Duke's funeral-Billets for Saturday and Sunday Theatres-Skipping up town-The holidays-The bagman— Holiday tasks.

OUR chief time 'out of bounds' was 'going out,' when we went up town for Saturday afternoon and Sunday. The rule for going out was this, that you must have some relation or friend of your family to go to, and that you brought back a letter to your housemaster on the Sunday night to say that you had spent your outing there. A list of relations and friends of your family, who were likely to ask you, was furnished to your housemaster by the parent or guardian of each boy; but boys often went out' to other boys' friends and relations, and some discretion was allowed to the housemaster in this respect.

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You dressed in your town clothes, put your kit in a small bag, drew your cab-money, put on your tall hat, and departed, often walking and carrying your bag to save your cab-money for more useful purposes. One's recollections of these Saturdays and Sundays out can scarcely be considered part and parcel of Westminster life, but they all intermingle with my school-life, and

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I must be excused for inserting one or two that may perhaps be interesting or amusing.

The Duke's funeral for one. The body of the old Duke of Wellington was lying in state at Chelsea Hospital, and between schools I and a friend made an attempt to see the sight. We got into a crowd, and moved along on the footway step by step for an hour or more, hot, crushed, dusty, and with our toes stamped upon, women fainting, children on men's shoulders, amid cries of Where are you shoving to?" and at last had to get out of the crush into the open street, and run back to Westminster without having been within a mile of the hospital.

One boy did get in, but he had the wit to tip the driver of some private carriage, and drove up in state. On the day of the funeral my cousin, Harry Wickham, and I were given places in Piccadilly, opposite the Green Park, at the house of an old Westminster, Sir Frederick Roe; here we had a splendid view. My chief excitement was seeing my eldest brother, then in the Rifle Brigade, of which the old Duke had been Colonel-in-Chief, marching in command of the leading company. Before the funeral I had seen the horses that were to draw the car being practised, drawing an enormous waggon 10 tons in weight. The drivers had halted to refresh themselves at the Chequers, the public-house near the Barges in Abingdon Street.

One Sunday when I was out with Minto Farquhar, at his father's (Sir Minto's) house in Gloucester Terrace, we went off, young Minto, the father, and I, to a church near the Edgware Road. About the com

mencement of the sermon smoke began to rise through the gratings in the floor of the church; this nearly caused a stampede, but Sir Minto, who was churchwarden, with great presence of mind, jumped up on his seat, spread forth his hands, and cried out, 'Be calm, be calm: there is no danger. Let those near the door file out first, and we will follow in turn. Please sit down, all except the back-pews.' He then sat down himself, the people followed his example, and all got out quietly and safely. There was no real danger, as the smoke was caused by sticks getting alight in the heating-chamber. When we got out, young Minto and I were just congratulating ourselves on no sermon,' when Sir Minto marched us off to another church where the service began later, so we came in for a sermon and a quarter. Some people never know when they have had enough.

A first-cousin of mine, Sir Clements Markham, now President of the Elizabethan Club, and an old Westminster, thoroughly understood the art of taking a boy out. He used to tell me to meet him at Verey's, a restaurant under the old Opera Arcade, and after a hearty luncheon away we went. He had always some scheme on hand-the launch of a ship down the river, a visit to Maudsley's Engine Works, a round of the Crystal Palace (then just moved from Hyde Park), or other delights. He always took the greatest interest in Westminster, and is now a member of the governing body; he still has boys out, and no doubt treats them as kindly as he did me forty-five years ago.

I have mentioned Sir Frederick Roe; he was for many years the chief magistrate at Bow Street, for which services he was knighted, and afterwards became a Baronet. Sir Frederick was a great friend of my uncle, Harry Wickham's father. They were old Westminster comrades, entering College, Sir Frederick in 1805, H. L. Wickham in 1806, and both were elected to Christ Church. Sir Frederick was very kind to my cousin and myself, often asking us down in the summer to a charming villa he had at Fulham, with a long stretch of shady lawn sloping down to the river, a few hundred yards below Putney Bridge; there we used to bathe and paddle about in an old skiff, and had a real good time. Harry Wickham joined the Rifle Brigade in 1855, and retired as Captain in 1872. His elder brother, William, was also at Westminster, and was member for East Hants for several years.

When 'out' at my uncle Wickham's, Harry and I, as small boys, were generally packed off to the play on the Saturday nights in charge of the old butler, always sitting in the pit, which was then the best place, occupying the space now taken up by the stalls. We used to dine early-chicken and bread sauce-get to the theatre before doors were opened, and then squeeze our way in, for front row if possible. The Lady of Lyons,' 'To Parents and Guardians,' 'Villikins and his Dinah,' were some of the plays we liked, and Charles Mathews, Robson, Wright, and Macready were our favourite actors. We also often looked in at our old friend Astley's, and at a music-hall of early