ature, the
walking in line at exercise--these things were insupportable to me. It
was like keeping a boy's spirit and imagination in prison, instead of
allowing them free communion with the world around. Farther, I was angry
at boys having been put over me, for their knowledge of classics, who
were perfectly ignorant of the higher branches of knowledge at which I
had been working. "Clever but idle" was usually the character I got at
school. They didn't understand me, for I studied one subject while they
wanted to test me by others.

'Well, accompanied by a boy friend, I climbed over the wall of the school
at Guildford, and made for home. My step-father's place was at Bodiam,
about twelve miles from Hastings, and between Bodiam and my London
relatives I had lived before going to Guildford. But at this time, if my
memory does not mislead me, the family were at Eastbourne. In that case
my destination would have been Eastbourne, and I know the route taken was
by Brighton. We had left as darkness was falling, and I'm afraid we
hadn't much money for the journey. That scarcely mattered, however, since
we were walking, therefore having no outlay unless for food. We slept a
night under the cliffs at Brighton, and I don't doubt we slept very
soundly. Boys do, anywhere. People were kind to us, and when asked, we
made no secret of the fact that we were fleeing from school.

'It had been arranged, between my companion and myself, that I should
take him into our house. At Eastbourne, which we reached sorely tired,
our insurgent spirits somewhat calmed, we had quite a lively reception.
There appeared to be, on the part of the younger members of the family, a
fear lest we should be instantly executed. Nothing so dreadful happened.
The other boy was put into communication with his friends, and I had a
long holiday. By and by, under the charge of a friend, I returned to
Guildford to make explanation and excuse. That done, I went visiting more
relations at Cheltenham--I had a lot altogether, you see!--and there I
was brought under the influence of Whately, later the renowned Archbishop
of Dublin.'

The boyish spirit kept alive in Sir George, and in that respect he had a
surpassing encounter. He spent holiday hours in the Natural History
Museum at South Kensington, near which he resided after leaving St.
James's. There was hardly an animal, or bird, that he could not instruct
you upon; but his delight was to watch the streams of happy vi