versity life is close at hand, and now we stand in its actual presence, our feelings partake rather of sorrow than of joy like emigrants leaving their fatherland for a foreign shore, we feel that this is to be no partial separation, that we are not to return in a week, in a month, and be at home again, but that between us and school life will lie many waters: here our separation must be lasting and final, and though in our new home, and wherever we may be, we shall ever cherish sweet thoughts and fond recollections of the days spent so happily here, though from time to time we may visit old haunts again, may pace once more beneath the shadow of the giant elms, may sit once more in our old place in the chapel, yet we feel that we cannot live the past again and be boys once more, we shall but be there on sufferance, our old companions will be gone, and strange faces in their place.

Standing then, as we do to-day, on the farthest verge of school life, which to-morrow we must quit for ever, what wonder if we are sad at heart? The varied scenes of the last seven years, many of which seemed dead and forgotten, rise up before our eyes to-day, fresh and vivid as though mere matters of yesterday. Are we seated in our study, or do we pace beneath the cloisters, or the elms, old associations crowd equally upon us; every spot in the close, every door around the quadrangle, every corner of the house calls up recollections of the past—pleasant it may be, yet not unmixed with pain. Opportunities, never to return, for improving ourselves or others, which we thoughtlessly neglected, strike upon our minds with a new regret, with a fresh sting: yonder door makes us think“What if we had not been idle during the time we were in that form, but had worked really and earnestly, might have been the result to us now?" Yonder study wakes in

us bitter recollections of coarse and profane words, uttered it may be heedlessly, and without thought of injuring others, but who shall say what fruit those words of ours may be bearing now, what they will bear hereafter; now we can understand why Homer calls words πιεροέντα; what would we not give to recall them now, but in vain; like time, once flown, they are irrevocable. And more than all does that voiceless yet eloquent cross of stone, standing out so clear against the autumn sky, fitting crown of the sacred building beneath upbraid us; how often within those walls has the seed of life been sown in our hearts; how often were our hearts but the way side, or the stony ground; how often when that seed sprang up did it wither away beneath temptation or fear of ridicule, or oftener yet was choked by the cares and the pleasures, the toils and the triumphs of school life; and what if within our hearts some few seeds are vital yet; the thought may somewhat soothe our sorrowing spirits, but are we not tempted to exclaim— "What are they among so many?"

But though some recollections be painful, others are very sweet, recollections of friendships formed, of temptations withstood, of lessons learnt, and experience gained; of many an innocent amusement, many a merry laugh shared with our friends; of many a pleasant Sunday afternoon ramble through pleasant lanes, or over fresh green fields, to the old cross at Hillmorton, to Addison's Bilton, or Brownsover with its quaint church and old timber-ribbed house, birth-place of our own Lawrence Sherriffe; these at least do not pain us, or anyways, are only painful because their day is over, and we must bid. them farewell. How dear, indescribably dear, everything connected with Rugby has become during the last week; how eager we are to make the most of the few days of

Rugby life yet left us; with what a zest we enter into even a chorus in a Greek Play, when we think it is the last we shall ever do at Rugby.

Never, at any time, is Rugby life more full of vigour and enjoyment than it is to-day, the grand opening day of football, the anniversary of the Sixth Match. The old elms still retain their summer clothing of deep dark green, save a few here and there on whom the hectic flush of decay is even now visible; the October sun lights up the long low grey pile of the school buildings, making the many windows flash like fire; on the very centre of New Bigside, where for so many afternoons cricket has reigned supreme, some dozen sheep are grazing unmolested: but if the new piece be deserted, Old Bigside is all life and excitement; there, every champion arrayed in the peculiar colours of his house, are drawn up the rival armies; ou the one side the chosen players, whom the school has sent forth to do battle on her behalf, a dense phalanx, and in their rear the dark mass of "the many" left behind to defend the camp; on the other the little band of the Sixth, few indeed, but, like the light brigade at Balaclava, "scornful of numbers," determined if they cannot win victory, at least to offer such a resistance as shall make defeat almost equally glorious with victory. But why attempt to describe the varying fortunes? has it not been already done by an abler hand than ours? all we can write on that subject must be mere plagiarism, so without more words we will take our place in the ranks, feeling that to-day is no unworthy end of the long list of matches we have shared in.

Yet once more-it is Sunday afternoon; the rays of the setting sun streaming in through the stained glass of the western windows flood the chapel with many-coloured

light service is just over, and the organ chaunt is peeling forth: : we see among us to-day many a one whose face we remember of old, watching with us the forms filing in order out of Chapel: the past mingles with the present, and a flood of recollections pours in upon us, from the day when we first, wondering and scared at the numbers around us took our seat among the lowest form, until now. The chapel is strangely altered since then; and of the school-fellows who then surrounded us, scarce any remain. to-day yonder window tells where some are lying: we have heard of others beneath the burning sun of India, manfully doing their duty to their country and their God, there too, far away from Rugby and the scenes of their boyhood, some are sleeping; for the rest, they are scattered abroad, some in England, some in distant lands; Rugby has sent them forth into the world, and here, never more, Sunday by Sunday, shall they assemble together in prayer as of old. To-day we feel ourselves as it were a link between the past generation and the present; to-morrow we shall be of the past; we, too, must bid farewell to Rugby, must go forth into the world;-may the love of whatever is noble, and pure, and true, and honest, implanted in our hearts during our sojourn here, grow stronger year by year; may we ever bear the same fervent love to Rugby, and ever look back with the same feelings of pleasure on the years spent so happily here. Finally, may we ever remember, that though ours are no striking and extraordinary talents, we may yet be among those sons of whom Christian Rugby can never be ashamed-This for ourselves, and for her; "Floreat Rugbeia nec unquam minuatur."

L. M. L.

A CHAPTER ON SWELLS.

Now of swells proper there be three principal sorts; the cricket swell, the football swell, and the classical swell, these be the principal sorts; but again, there are other outlying swells, such as have been in the school long, and are of a pleasant conversation, and agreeable companions, albeit they play not at games, nor are clever at classics, but these are seldom found. Some again there be who are swells at cricket, football, and classics, such as B., but neither are these often met with; moreover, attached to the cricket and football swell, (but not to the classical,) are many who are not indeed themselves swells, but have a great and eager longing to attain to that eminence, but of these hereafter.

Again, there be debating swells, singing swells, swells at fives, drawing swells, mathematical swells, ladies' men, and other small divisions; but these are few in number. Now he that is a swell is generally not a pleasant companion, for his eminence hath turned his head, and he confineth his conversation to that department in which he excelleth. If he be a cricket swell, he recounteth the number of runs he made in the last match; he telleth of that splendid draw that his friend Jones made, and how Snookes hath fallen off in his bowling ever since the match with Muggleton ; he readeth all the cricket in Bell, and remarketh on the matches; he chaffeth the professional, and even goeth so far as to engage in pugilistic encounters with him; he carefully surveyeth the ground preparatory to every match; and when the match is over he again surveyeth the ground and pointeth out the exact spot in which that beautiful ball