uished from its exemplification in particular parts of the
discipline and instruction, would be formed by recalling his manner, as
he appeared in the great school, where the boys used to meet when the
whole school was assembled collectively, and not in its different forms
or classes. Then, whether on his usual entrance every morning to prayers
before the first lesson, or on the more special emergencies which might
require his presence, he seemed to stand before them, not merely as the
head-master, but as the representative of the school. There he spoke to
them as members together with himself of the same great institution,
whose character and reputation they had to sustain as well as he. He
would dwell on the satisfaction he had in being head of a society, where
noble and honorable feelings were encouraged, or on the disgrace which
he felt in hearing of acts of disorder or violence, such as in the
humbler ranks of life would render them amenable to the laws of their
country; or again, on the trust which he placed in their honor as
gentlemen, and the baseness of any instance in which it was abused. "Is
this a Christian school?" he indignantly asked at the end of one of
those addresses, in which he had spoken of an extensive display of bad
feeling amongst the boys; and then added,--"I cannot remain here if all
this is to be carried on by constraint and force; if I am to be here as
a jailer, I will resign my office at once." And few scenes can be
recorded more characteristic of him than on one of these occasions,
when, in consequence of a disturbance, he had been obliged to send away
several boys, and when in the midst of the general spirit of discontent
which this excited, he stood in his place before the assembled school
and said: "It is _not_ necessary that this should be a school of three
hundred, or one hundred, or of fifty boys; but it _is_ necessary that it
should be a school of Christian gentlemen."

LXXIII. ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.--1819-1875.

Welcome, wild North-easter!
Shame it is to see
Odes to every zephyr;
Ne'er a verse to thee.
Welcome, black North-easter!
O'er the German foam;
O'er the Danish moorlands,
From thy frozen home.
Tired we are of summer,
Tired of gaudy glare,
Showers soft and steaming,
Hot and breathless air.
Tired of listless dreaming
Through the lazy day:
Jovial wind of winter