strength rather lies in his power, when at bay, of flashing into some monstrous fiction, dramatising the situation, playing an adopted part, with confidence and assurance.  One sees traces of the same thing in the Bible.  The story of Jacob deceiving Isaac, and pretending to be Esau in order to secure a blessing is not related with disapprobation.  Jacob does not forfeit his blessing when his deceit is discovered.  The whole incident is regarded rather as a master-stroke of cunning and inventiveness.  Esau is angry not because Jacob has employed such trickery, but because he has succeeded in supplanting him.

I remember, as a boy at Eton, seeing a scene which left a deep impression on me.  There was a big unpleasant unscrupulous boy of great physical strength, who was a noted football player.  He was extremely unpopular in the school, because he was rude, sulky, and overbearing, and still more because he took unfair advantages in games.  There was a hotly contested house-match, in which he tried again and again to evade rules, while he was for ever appealing to the umpires against violations of rule by the opposite side.  His own house was ultimately victorious, but feeling ran very high indeed, because it was thought that the victory was unfairly won.  The crowd of boys who had been watching the match drifted away in a state of great exasperation, and finally collected in front of the house of the unpopular player, hissed and hooted him.  He took very little notice of the demonstration and walked in, when there arose a babel of howls.  He turned round and came out again, facing the crowd.  I can see him now, all splashed and muddy, with his shirt open at the neck.  He was pale, ugly, and sinister; but he surveyed us all with entire effrontery, drew out a pince-nez, being very short-sighted, and then looked calmly round as if surprised.  I have certainly never seen such an exhibition of courage in my life.  He knew that he had not a single friend present, and he did not know that he would not be maltreated—­there were indications of a rush being made.  He did not look in the least picturesque; he was ugly, scowling, offensive.  But he did not care a rap, and if he had been attacked, he would have defended himself with a will.  It did not occur to me then, nor did it, I think, occur to anyone else, what an amazing bit of physical and moral courage it was.  No one, then or after, had the slightest feeling of admiration for his pluck.  “Did you ever see such a brute as P—­ looked?” was the only sort of comment made.

This just serves to illustrate my point, that boys have no real discernment for what is courageous.  What they admire is a certain grace and spirit, and the hero is not one who constrains himself to do an unpopular thing from a sense of duty, not even the boy who, being unpopular like P—­, does a satanically brave thing.  Boys have no admiration for the boy who defies them; what they like to see is the defiance of a common foe.  They admire gallant, modest, spirited, picturesque behaviour, not the dull and faithful obedience to the sense of right.