the Head said was a poem not yet come to its own; there were hundreds of volumes of verse-Crashaw; Dryden; Alexander Smith; L. E. F.; Lydia Sigourney; . . . Ossian; The Earthly Paradise; Atlanta in Calydon; and Rosetti-to name only a few. Then the Head, drifting in under pretense of playing censor to the paper, would read here a verse and there another of these poets, opening up avenues."

But long before the Head had given Beetle the run of his library, the boys had done reading of their own. Stalky's tastes ran to Handley Cross, Mr. Sponge, and the other sporting tales of Surtees; McTurk possessed Fors Clavigera in the original monthly parts; Browning's Men and Women "lived and ate" with Beetle, and their other reading included authors as diverse as Byron, Dumas, Kingsley, Fenimore Cooper, De Quincy, Marryatt, Dickens, Lewis Carroll, and Bret Harte. Beetle, in fact, read everything he could lay hands on, including Viollet-le-Duc's History of a House. But-and here is the important point to be remembered-these readings were not indulged in naturally, as the Oxford undergraduate reads; the boys achieved their intellectual interests only by being rebels against the customs and traditions of the school, and by becoming objects of scorn to many of their fellows, and of suspicion to their masters. McTurk openly derided cricket, and Beetle's views on the honor of the house were incendiary. In short, the three were looked upon as is an American undergraduate who dares to think that education may mean something more than "college spirit" and football, and their masters suspected them as the typical college president suspects a boy who reads Shaw and Chekov deliberately, avoids "pep rallies," and refuses to bow the knee in the house of the Holy Pigskin.

Literary tastes may be cultivated-at a price-in unfavorable environments, but freedom of thought on more abstract matters, such as politics, which do not directly touch a boy's daily life, is more difficult to attain. Hence, though the artist in Kipling responded unfailingly to the appeal of poets dead

and gone and of poets living, the other side of his nature bent to the pressure about it. As Stalky and Beetle had carefully kicked McTurk out of his Irish dialect and made The Wearing of the Green anathema, so the school instilled in Kipling-Beetle the whole law and gospel of the Tories. Imperialism was the Tory policy, and Kipling, in daily fellowship with the sons of men who had made the Empire-boys who "thought, not a few of them, of an old sword in a passage, or above a breakfast-room table, seen and fingered by stealth since they could walk" could hardly fail to be fired by its romance and adventure. Nine former schoolmates died in the service, cut down by disease or slain in frontier skirmishes, in the five years Kipling was at Westward Ho! In the fatted peace of late Victorian England, in a generation whose literary expression was to be the rococo fancies and epicene lusts of Oscar Wilde and the Yellow Book esthetes, imperialism must have seemed to an imaginative and high-spirited boy the only real adventure left, the only cause worth dying for. The glamor of heroism obscured all other aspects of the matter. "Fat-Sow" Duncan had led his men into a trap, and the men had fled, leaving him to his fate, but no boy thought of that side of the affair when he knew that Duncan had died bravely, and that a schoolmate had led the party which beat off the enemy and recovered Duncan's body. The very fact that these deaths were accepted in silence, that there were no flag-wavings, no chapel-speeches extolling the beauty of sacrifice, made them the more impressive. One last passage must be quoted, for light it sheds on the boys' frame of mind:

"They saw a group of boys by the notice-board in the corridor; little Foxy, the school sergeant, among them.

"More bounds, I expect,' said Stalky. 'Hullo, Foxibus, who are you in mournin' for? There was a broad band of crape round Foxy's arm.

'He was in my old regiment,' said Foxy, jerking his head towards the notices, where a newspaper cutting was thumbtacked between call-over lists.

""By gum!' quoth Stalky, uncovering as he read. 'It's old Duncan-Fat-Sow Duncan-killed on duty at something or other Kotal. "Rallyin' his men with conspicuous gallantry." He would, of course. "The body was recovered." That's all right. They cut 'em up sometimes, don't they, Foxy?"

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'Horrid,' said the sergeant briefly.

""Poor old Fat-Sow! I was a fag when he left. How many does that make to us, Foxy?'

"Mr. Duncan, he is the ninth. He come here when he was no bigger than little Grey tertius. My old regiment, too.

Yiss, nine to us, Mr. Corkran, up to date.'

"The boys went out into the wet, walking swiftly."

"Try as he will, no man breaks wholly loose from his first love, no matter who she be." The influence of the College was strong and persistent, as may be seen from the subsequent career of Major-General Lionel Charles Dunsterville, C.B., C.S.I., alias Stalky, who, after serving with distinction in various frontier campaigns in India, brought his military achievements to their climax in his conduct of "Dunsterforce," displaying in that fantastic attempt to re-establish a southeastern front after the Russian collapse in 1917, the same coolness, resourcefulness and daring—not to say recklessness -which he had exhibited long before at Westward Ho! Even if Kipling had never again been in the society of boys and men of the United Services, the effect of that contact during the most impressionable years of adolescence would have stayed with him. But when to five years at the College were added seven more years in India, where the boys he had known, and others like them, were maintaining order, fighting famine, striving to teach sanitation and a few other things, over two million square miles of territory and three hundred million polychrome human beings, his education was completed. At the end of those twelve years of apprenticeship he could no more have helped being a Tory than he could have helped being an Englishman. For better or worse, his mind was made up.

It is interesting to speculate what might have been his work had he taken the other turning. Nephew to Sir Edward Burne-Jones, boyhood playmate of May Morris, he had, apparently, as good a prospect of obtaining journalistic work through his uncle's influence in London as through his father's in India. The boy who went out to Lahore to sub-edit the Civil and Military Gazette might equally well have gone to London, and, in due time, have assisted in organizing the Kelmscott Press. Surely none of the changes and chances of this mortal life is more curious than this, that but for the grace of God-or some other Power-the author of The White Man's Burden might have become friend and co-worker with William Morris, Walter Crane, and the young idealists of the Fabian Society. It is like imagining Milton a trooper in Prince Rupert's horse, writing tracts in favor of the divine right of kings. Indeed, after all, there is at least this much resemblance between Kipling and Milton, that they were both given to strong political opinions, and, on whichever side fate had placed them, they would have used much precious time and energy in advancing those views. Kipling the propagandist would have been as effective, or as ineffective, in the service of the Fabians as in that of the Empire. But one shudders to conjecture what might have happened to Kipling the artist without the light and color and romance of India to develop his powers to the utmost. Allah gave him two separate sides to his head, and fate provided the means whereby the important artistic side might best be fulfilled. Fate also gave him his politics, as this paper has striven to make clear. To denounce the artist because we dislike the politician is as silly as to reject Milton's poetry because we disagree with his theology.

American Notes-Editorial

Arnold, of Rugby, was a great teacher. He gripped his pupils' attention and interest from the start and held it to the finish. He was a maker of real men out of bashful, backward and timid boys who had not found themselves, who did not know how to go at the problems of life, who had no confidence in their own mental powers and processes, and who had yet to discover why they were here and whither they were going. Arnold of Rugby knew nothing of psychological tests and intelligence quotients. But he had a big, warm heart, and with it he loved boys and knew how to "get across" with them. He knew how to use personality in the building of lives. And he built multitudes of them, who became leaders in their day and generation; and lifted others to levels of usefulness and happiness that would never have been reached if it had not been for his inspiring love and confidence in that which was best in them.

Mark Hopkins was another such teacher. He used his heart as well as his head, in his responsible position as president of a college, and gave the world a true and adequate definition and conception of a real college as consisting in a wise and sympathetic teacher on one end of a log, with a receptive but as yet undeveloped lad on the other end. Mark Hopkins knew little, if anything, about psychological averages and intelligence quotients. But he knew boys, and he was interested in the one on the other end of the log,-and in all boys, especially those who were as yet unawakened and unaware of the great possibilities which there are in every human heart and brain; and he made it his business and his joy to develop these.

There have been, and there are, hundreds of masters and teachers who have caught the vision and who are building men and women for life and service, by methods and means that these great schoolmasters saw so clearly and used so effectively.

The human mind is a very sensitive instrument. It is subject, especially in early life, to experiences and perplexities that are varient and contradictory, and it often happens that a child or youth is temporarily staggered by the multitudinous impressions that pour in upon him, making self-control, self-direction and rational achievement impossible for the time being. Such a young person is not deficient, he is simply chaotic for the time being. He needs time. and latitude for experience. He will come out all right. But get after him with psychological tests and intelligence quotients and group averages, and there is grave danger that you will "scare the life out