We looked upon every trumpery little custom and habit which had obtained in the School as though it had been a law of the Medes and Persians, and regarded the infringement or variation of it as a sort of sacrilege.  And the Doctor, than whom no man or boy had a stronger liking for old school customs which were good and sensible, had, as has already been hinted, come into most decided collision with several which were neither the one nor the other.  And as old Brooke had said, when he came into collision with boys or customs, there was nothing for them but to give in or take themselves off; because what he said had to be done, and no mistake about it.  And this was beginning to be pretty clearly understood.  The boys felt that there was a strong man over them, who would have things his own way, and hadn’t yet learnt that he was a wise and loving man also.  His personal character and influence had not had time to make itself felt, except by a very few of the bigger boys with whom he came more directly into contact; and he was looked upon with great fear and dislike by the great majority even of his own house.  For he had found School and School-house in a state of monstrous license and misrule, and was still employed in the necessary but unpopular work of setting up order with a strong hand.

However, as has been said, old Brooke triumphed, and the boys cheered him and then the Doctor.  And then more songs came, and the healths of the other boys about to leave, who each made a speech, one flowery, another maudlin, a third prosy, and so on, which are not necessary to be here recorded.

Half-past nine struck in the middle of the performance of “Auld Lang Syne,” a most obstreperous proceeding, during which there was an immense amount of standing with one foot on the table, knocking mugs together and shaking hands, without which accompaniments it seems impossible for the youths of Britain to take part in that famous old song.  The under-porter of the School-house entered during the performance, bearing five or six long wooden candlesticks with lighted dips in them, which he proceeded to stick into their holes in such part of the great tables as he could get at; and then stood outside the ring till the end of the song, when he was hailed with shouts.

“Bill you old muff, the half-hour hasn’t struck.”  “Here, Bill, drink some cocktail.”  “Sing us a song, old boy.”  “Don’t you wish you may get the table?” Bill drank the proffered cocktail not unwillingly, and putting down the empty glass, remonstrated.  “Now gentlemen, there’s only ten minutes to prayers, and we must get the hall straight.”

Shouts of “No, no!” and a violent effort to strike up “Billy Taylor” for the third time.  Bill looked appealingly to old Brooke, who got up and stopped the noise.  “Now then, lend a hand, you youngsters, and get the tables back; clear away the jugs and glasses.  Bill’s right.  Open the windows, Warner.”  The boy addressed, who sat by the long ropes, proceeded