Yesterday I should have gone back to school, had I been a hundred years younger.  My most frequent dream nowadays—­or nowanights I suppose I should say—­is that I am back at school, and trying to construe difficult passages from Greek authors unknown to me.  That they are unknown is my own fault, as will be pointed out to me sternly in a moment.  Meanwhile I stand up and gaze blankly at the text, wondering how it is that I can have forgotten to prepare it.  “Er—­him the—­er—­him the—­the er many-wiled Odysseus—­h’r’m—­then, him addressing, the many-wiled Odysseus—­ er—­addressed.  Er—­er —­the er—­” And then, sweet relief, I wake up.  That is one of my dreams; and another is that I am trying to collect my books for the next school and that an algebra, or whatever you like, is missing.  The bell has rung, as it seems hours ago, I am searching my shelves desperately, I am diving under my table, behind the chair ...  I shall be late, I shall be late, late, late ...

No doubt I had these bad moments in real life a hundred years ago.  Indeed I must have had them pretty often that they should come back to me so regularly now.  But it is curious that I should never dream that I am going back to school, for the misery of going back must have left a deeper mark on my mind than all the little accidental troubles of life when there.  I was very happy at school; but oh! the utter wretchedness of the last day of the holidays.

One began to be apprehensive on the Monday.  Foolish visitors would say sometimes on the Monday, “When are you going back to school?” and make one long to kick them for their tactlessness.  As well might they have said to a condemned criminal, “When are you going to be hanged?” or, “What kind of—­er—­knot do you think they’ll use?” Througout Monday and Tuesday we played the usual games, amused ourselves in the usual way, but with heavy hearts.  In the excitement of the moment we would forget and be happy, and then suddenly would come the thought, “We’re going back on Wednesday.”

And on Tuesday evening we would bring a moment’s comfort to ourselves by imagining that we were not going back on the morrow.  Our favourite dream was that the school was burnt down early on Wednesday morning, and that a telegram arrived at breakfast apologizing for the occurrence, and pointing out that it would be several months before even temporary accommodation could be erected.  No Vandal destroyed historic buildings so light-heartedly as we.  And on Tuesday night we prayed that, if the lightnings of Heaven failed us, at least a pestilence should be sent in aid.  Somehow, somehow, let the school be uninhabitable!