The Boyhood of Rev. Samuel Robert Calthrop

Compiled by His Daughter, Edith Calthrop Bump

Syracuse, New York

April, 1939

[Following is an edited version of a manuscript by Edith that was donated to May Memorial Unitarian Universalist Society. The information was compiled by Edith from interviews with her Dad, material he provided, and other information she found. Where appropriate, helpful, and educational, Internet links have been added by Roger Hiemstra, Church Archivist. The original material was data processed by Carolyn (Lyn) Coyle.]

Chapter One – Early Days

I was born in Swineshead Abbey, October 9, 1829, in the fen country of Lincolnshire, England. My father, Richard Calthrop, was born at Gosburton Hall. He was known as a gentleman farmer, and one of a great position in the county; he did well, prospered, and eventually purchased the estate of Swineshead Abbey. He married Elizabeth Turfitt Everard, daughter of Samuel Everard of Gosburton. They lived at Swineshead Abbey, my father having bought the estate from a family named Lockston. I had three brothers and ten sisters.

The house in which I was born was built of stones taken from the old Abbey of Swineshead and on the same site. Shakespeare commemorated it in his play of “King John.” The king died in the old abbey, with his defeated army camped around it.

There was an old story told about the ruined abbey. When Cromwell was pursuing some of the king’s followers, a Sir John came with a few friends to Swineshead to escape to France by way of “The Wash.” Sir John had a fine horse of which he was very fond and he took it into the ruined cellar of the abbey. He got all the water and hay he could find and stowed it where the horse could find it. Then Sir John threw the key into the abbey well. Months later he returned and broke in the cellar door, to find the skeleton of the horse leaning against the door listening for his master. (When my father cleaned the abbey well, the old key was found at the bottom.)

It was strange that when I went to Trinity College, Cambridge, I should occupy the same room as Tennyson, who lived about six miles away, near Boston. Many of his poems show the influence of the fen country.

One of the first things I remember was going to the village of Swineshead. My sisters had taken me in the pony carriage with them to see the “God-Be-Heres.” The “God-Be-Heres” were one of those strange religious sects that were very common among the country people at that time.) Suddenly a horn was blown and I ran to see the great coach pass. I found myself treading on something soft as I watched the coach pass by. The “God-Be-Heres” were very frightened as they saw me standing on the fiercest dog in the village. The dog seemed to understand I was nothing but a little child.

The next scene that took place and left a deep impression on me was in the great Swineshead Church. I was taken there in the pony carriage by my sisters one Sunday morning. When we entered, my sister Elizabeth led the way and found a man with a very red beard sitting in the corner of our pew near the door. When she lifted me to my hassock (thick cushion used as a seat), she politely handed him a prayer book. Soon mother and father and the rest of the family came in, having driven to church behind us in the phaeton (four wheeled carriage). When my father saw the red bearded man sitting in our pew, he seized him by the collar and pitched him into the aisle. There was actual clapping in the church. Father was church warden, and Mr. Foss, the red bearded man, had refused to pay his tithes and so my father had sold one of his cows to pay them. Mr. Foss had dared to sit in my father’s pew to insult him, but he insulted the wrong man.

The nursery at Swineshead Abbey was the place where we children lived. It was a most delightful room to us all, made so by our dearly beloved nurse, Mary Sentence. We children did not know whom we loved better, our mother or our nurse. The nursery had windows on the south side so it was very bright and sunny. On the east was a large fireplace which had a fender (rails or barriers placed in front of a fireplace) on which we could put our arms. Here Mary Sentence cooked our dinner on a skillet – a sort of gridiron with hollow arms into which the gravy ran. I remembered this skillet for a long time, for one day I put my hand on one of the arms. Mary found out I had done so and asked me if it hurt, I said it did not. She looked at it and said I had told a story, which meant a lie. It had merely touched the skin, though the scar remained for a couple of years. She never had to say that to me again.

Five of us children slept in the attic with our nurse, Mary. In the morning, when it was dark, Mary Sentence used to get up and take her tinder box, flint, and steel to light a candle. Then she started the large fire and we children would get up and dress before it. We were a very happy lot, especially when we gathered around the fire and Mary told us stories. She was gifted that way.

Next in our love was Thomas Grayson, groom and gardener. We admired his skill in mowing the lawns. His scythe cut the grass with perfect smoothness, better than a modern lawnmower. He was so kind to us. When our sister, who was our teacher, punished us for not completing our lessons, little sister Emma was apt to have to wear a fool’s cap. She would run out into the garden to have a good cry, but Thomas would tell her, “Thomas doth not see what thou hast on thy head, my dear.” Generally, the fool’s cap was our sole form of punishment.

A Miss Dando was a frequent visitor in our young days and we were very fond of her. She slept in a spare room next to the nursery. As she had to pass through our room to get to her own, often she would stop and tell us stories. She had a very fine diamond ring, an heirloom. She used to show it to us and we loved to see it glisten. One morning she left it on a long pin on her pin cushion. When she returned to her room after breakfast, the ring was gone. She at once called Ellen the house maid, and told her what had happened. Ellen said she had not seen it, but Ellen felt believed Miss Dando thought she must have taken it because she was the only one to go to Miss Dando’s room. Ellen went at once to my mother and told her what had happened.

“Mrs. Calthrop,” she said, “I am the only one who goes into Miss Dando’s room and if the ring cannot be found she will think I took it.” Poor Ellen was so overcome that she burst into tears.

Our mother called each one of us to her and questioned us very carefully as to whether we had seen the ring or seen anyone go into Miss Dando’s room. None of us knew anything about it.

“Fetch Thomas,” said mother. “If anyone can solve this mystery he can.” Thomas came and mama put the whole story before him. Thomas scratched his head and said, “Madam, I will do my best to find out who took that ring. I cannot believe that Ellen did.” He cast a shy glance at the tearful Ellen.

Thomas went out doors and sat under the big linden tree that stood near the house. He sat there for some time, thinking and puzzling out any possible way the ring might disappear. Suddenly he heard a noise in the tree above him. He raised his head and looked in the branches. There sat the pet jackdaw, a great favorite of the family. As Thomas looked he noticed that the jackdaw was playing with something in his mouth. The bird moved about and suddenly the sun shone on him and Thomas saw something glisten in his mouth. Thomas’ heart nearly stopped still. It must be the ring. Thomas did not call him but went into the kitchen and cut some pieces of raw meat and placed them under the tree, just where the bird could see them. The temptation was too great for soon the bird came down. Thomas watched him as he gazed at the meat, then he opened his mouth and soon began to eat. When the jackdaw was too busy to notice him, Thomas reached out carefully and got the ring from where the jackdaw had let it drop. Great was the rejoicing when Thomas brought the ring to my mother.

One time Miss Dando came just after making a visit to London. While there she went to the theatre one evening. During one of the interludes the manager of the theatre came forward and said, “You are going to see a genuine feat of skill, and I pledge you my honor there is no fake in it. The performer will set up an ordinary set of poker, tongs, and shovel, standing them all in a row. I only ask you to be very still.” The performer came out then and in a short time he had these all standing in a row. There was great enthusiasm for the feat among audience members. One evening there was a large company at dinner and Miss Dando told the guests about the act she had seen at the theatre. The gentlemen were very skeptical and when mama led the ladies into the drawing room after dinner, she found Miss Dando in tears because the gentlemen did not believe her. Mama thought a minute and then called Thomas. He had helped wait on the table and had heard the discussion. “Thomas,” she said, “if anyone can do this thing you can.” Thomas took poker, tongs, and shovel into the front kitchen and told the other servants to keep out. He tried and tried to make them stand on end. Finally, one stood and then another until at last he had the three standing in a row. When the gentlemen came into the drawing room, mamma, in her most stately manner, invited them to come with her into the kitchen. There to their great amazement they saw for themselves the poker, tongs, and shovel standing bravely up in a row. Thomas told them how he tried and tried the poker first, until suddenly it stood still. The tongs and shovel were a little harder but not much. Miss Dando beamed as now she was vindicated.

When I was six my sister Elizabeth came home from Mrs. Whittingam’s school in Birmingham. Sister Lizzie, as we called her, was a born teacher. She taught us by her great enthusiasm to love and admire noble characters. When we studied Greek history, we were thrilled when Leonidas and his brave three hundred died for their country’s cause. We read the Epitaph:

“Go Stranger, and tell all Sparta we died here in obedience to her Sacred Laws.”

She dictated to us from J. Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary, “Socrates was the most celebrated philosopher in antiquity,” and when we heard of his heroic death, we mourned. When Marcus Curtius, armed cap a pied, and riding a war horse, jumped down the gulf which opened suddenly in the Forum, which the Oracle had declared would never be closed until Rome had thrown into it the most precious thing she possessed. The people began throwing down their jewels and gold, but Curtius knew better, for gallant men who defended Rome were her most precious possession. The gulf closed over him for he had fulfilled the will of the Oracle.

Our young hearts were thrilled by such heroism. My sister’s eyes beamed as she told us those great stories. Her influence was an unforgotten throughout our lives.

One great event of our day was when tea time approached. Then we children went into the dining room to have a game of “Robbers” with papa. He would hide himself behind one of the red curtains and in a terrible voice would call,

Fee, fi, fo, fum,

I smell the blood of an Englishman.

Be he alive or be he dead,

I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.

The more terrible the voice, the more delighted and terrified we were. Little Emma would cry out, “B. Y. Bob” and just what that meant we never knew. He would then rush out and catch us. Those were very happy days for us children.

The first great event of my life came on June 20^th, 1837. I was just eight years old. Queen Victoria became the queen of England on that day. A great dinner was held in the market place for the whole village. Father took me and I sat by his side at the head of the table where the gentlemen sat. When the dinner was over, my father rose and proposed the health and happiness of the young queen, who was only seventeen years old. “God bless her and may she reign over us a long time.” Then there was tremendous cheering and a huge fire was lit in the square. The great event was over. No one could have told then that Queen Victoria would reign longer than any king or queen of England and would be more beloved than any of her long line of ancestors.

We had large gardens with two lawns, one at the front of the house which was well kept, and the other at the back and sides. My sisters had a very pretty flower garden on the western lawn, not far from the sunken fence. When there was water in it, the sunken fence was a fine place to play. There our eldest sisters, Fanny and Ellen, used to play at inn keeping. Harriet, Jennet, Emma, and I would play with our hoops as the coach. This was great fun and Fanny was allowed to gather a few currants to feed the “horses.”

The best fun of all was the cat-gallows (a jumping frame). Thomas made the ones we used first, but I soon learned the trade. They were made of two sticks with a fork at the top. These were placed in the ground and another small stick was put in the forks. If the jumper could jump over the cross piece he was given a higher one, but if the stick dropped off he had to try again. I made one for each jumper and one for myself. Jennet and Emma had one, as they jumped exactly the same height. Jennet ran with a very solemn and determined rush, but Emma skipped along in a gay manner.

About this time Carrie was given to me. She was a King Charles spaniel and was one of the great loves of my life. She was a wonderful dog. When I took her with me, no one thought of taking her away because she would not leave me. When I came home from school in the summer time, my father, mother, and the whole family would come out on the lawn to see how Carrie acted. She would begin to run around the party, the second round being shorter, and press the whole family into a smaller space. After four or five rounds we would be crowded together. Then she would give a rush for me, jumping and kissing me with wild delight. It made no difference how far away she was, she would always find me. Once I could not find her. I called and whistled for her but she would not come. I searched the whole garden until I came to the third lawn. There she was with her nose to the ground. When I called she would not come and I was angry with her for the first time in my life. As I came nearer to her I saw that her nose was close to something. It was my purse which I had dropped. It had three shillings and six pence in it. Imagine my delight to find her so true to me.

Soon I was ready to go away to a school and my Uncle Sam, who had the fine old Calthrops’ ancestral home at Gosburton, also took care of the farm that belonged to St. Paul’s School in London. The school was in the hands of the Mercer Company, guardian of the wealth of the great Dean Colet, who founded the school in the reign of Henry the Eighth. Uncle Sam, being an admirable tenant, put in a good word for me and I was accepted into St. Paul’s School.

Chapter Two – St. Paul’s School

The great day came, the first of October, when my father and I got up at four in the morning, had our breakfast, and were driven in the phaeton by Thomas to Sutterton. Here we waited until the big coach Perseverance came along and we were on our way to London, one hundred and ten miles away. Boy-like, I got a great thrill riding in the coach. We traveled through many hamlets where it seemed as though every one was at their door to see us pass. When we stopped to change horses, the shouts and calls to the driver and others caused much comment among the people on the coach. It was a great event for a small boy of nine, especially when we stopped at Biggleswade and had an excellent dinner.

Never shall I forget the feeling as I looked down on the lights of London from the top of the coach as the Perseverance stopped at Holborn Hill at eight o’clock. My father ordered a cab and we drove to Ludgate Hill Hotel, just below the great St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was a wonderful sight; one I have never forgotten. By this time I was very hungry and father ordered supper of boiled ham and eggs. Memories of that glorious dinner remained with me for a long time.

After breakfast the next morning, father took me to the great cathedral and we stood under the dome, which is immense. We went into the Whispering Gallery and father whispered to me from the other side of that great dome and I heard every word. It was a wonderful thing to this small boy. Then we went to the Zoological Gardens and I saw the bears, monkeys, and elephants. The keeper of the elephants put me on the neck of one of them and I rode around for a long time. His neck was as broad as my pony’s back. It was another great thrill.

In the afternoon we went to see the Rev. Charles Colby Robert’s, one of the Masters, where I was going to board. He was a Trinity College, Cambridge, man and taught the Fourth and Fifth Forms. He was unmarried and lived with his sister who kept house for him.

I said goodbye to my father, and soon was settled as a real school boy. That night I was put in the attic in a large room with four other small boys. When we were going to bed, the boy next to me said, “The beds are very narrow so your bed might turn over if you did not lie in the middle.” Being very tired from all my new experiences I soon fell asleep. Suddenly I was awakened and found myself on the floor. The boy, who had kindly warned me, helped me lift up my bed and put on the mattress and the bed clothes. I fell asleep again and once more found myself on the floor. The kind boy helped me again and, as we were lifting up the bed, I heard voices in the passageway saying, “He bears it so well we won’t do it again.” So at last I understood.

I soon found all the boys in my room were very nice and we had great times playing together, especially when it rained and we played marbles.

The long anticipated week before Christmas came and I went home with one of my sisters who was in school near London. Oh! What a happy time it was. Although I had enjoyed my school very much, the joy of being home was very great. My recollections of that Christmas day and all the preparations are very vivid. First it began with breakfast. Such a meal! On the sideboard was a great spiced beef and on the table pork pies and sausages. Those pork pies were works of art and we children were sometimes allowed to have a hand in the making of them. A round tower of crust with a firm base was slowly built under skilled fingers. Then pieces of pork, chopped large, were poured in and finally the whole edifice crowned with a crust and put in the oven to bake, just as a loaf of bread. As for those sausages, the making of them is a lost art.

After breakfast came the Christmas presents, all spread out on the dining room table. Every Christmas our good and saintly vicar (alas living near London for his health) used to send every member of the family a present – a book, box of fruit, and the finest raisins and prunes. So we christened his present, “Plums, Prunes, and Tracts.”

Then we went to church, the grand old village church that seated two thousand people. It was a great sight, with the church filled with people. The monks of Swineshead Abbey had built this grand old parish church, a splendid specimen of the Early English architecture. To the font in this church I was taken as a tiny baby. There my father and mother consecrated me to God in baptism. The church was about a mile away. It was quite a procession that sallied forth from our home, including father, mother, twelve children, and two or more visitors. Some of them walked, but most went in the big phaeton and pony cart.

After church we hurried home to Christmas dinner. Such a dinner! On the table was a great joint of beef, which had been cooked on a spit before the fire; and there were turkeys, chickens, and many other items. After all these things had been well tasted, we were served the plum pudding which had taken days to prepare. The brandy around it was solemnly lighted and became a veritable Christmas family altar. The “ohs” and “ahs” from us children showed our appreciation.

After dessert our dear mother danced a minuet for us, the one day in the year she danced, for her piety was very strict. She had learned this stately dance in the days of her youth. We children were very much awed by its grandeur. Then we children, thirteen of us, stood in a row from the oldest to the youngest, the baby being held in the arms of the nurse. We stood in order of height, my two big brothers at the top and dwindling down like a succession of Pan’s pipes. As the years went by, I slowly ascended toward the top, until I stood third. This ceremony my father never forgot and he would stand and rub his hands with delight.

Not long after dinner we were informed that the bell-ringers had come. Our church had a grand peal of bells and it was a great moment when they pealed out merrily over the country side on Christmas morning. It was the custom of the ringers of the church bells to come around every Christmas evening and ring their bells at our house. We all went into the front kitchen and there we saw four solemn and speechless men with eight bells on a long table spread with a soft cloth. After a rustic obeisance to us they nodded to each other and the ringing began. It was all very quaint and simple. It was odd to see how deftly those awkward hands moved and how noiselessly they put the bells on the table. The harmonies were so sweet and sure.

In those days we had no organ in the church. The choir consisted of brass, string, and wood instruments. My childish delight was the bassoon and the big bass viol. With the bell ringers and the choir, a good deal of music took place in our village. Christmas music was an event for the choir and when the organ took its place, the men in the band felt very blue and some actually shed tears. When the next Christmas came around and their occupation was taken away, the pride of their rustic hearts was gone.

The climax of Christmas Day came when we children were allowed to sit up and see the Morice Dancers. (How old this dance was no one knows.) The name Morice – Moorish – probably came from Spain. Some thought it was brought by John of Gault. No Christmas festival was complete without the Morice Dancers.

What a dance it was with Robin Hood and Maid Marian and, gradually, all the men of the Green Wood. First, half a dozen masked figures with drawn swords appeared. Our childish impressions deepened and deepened as they danced their mystic dance. One would fall down, apparently slain, then five others placed their swords’ points on the center of his breast and solemnly danced around his prostrate form repeating some mystic words in a monotonous refrain. It sounded like a vow they were repeating, an oath to avenge his death, or a sung dirge, or a solemn song of incantation to revive his lifeless body.

We had very happy times while I was home, and I was obliged to stay at home several weeks because I had whooping cough. One day a remarkable letter came to me with a coin in it. Papa, mamma, and the others felt the coin and debated whether to keep the letter or not because the postage was a shilling and the one receiving it had to pay the postage. It was finally opened and there was a coin dedicated to me.

When I got back to school all was changed for the worse. A small boy – a brother to that wonderful creature, the captain of the school – had been put in our room. He was the biggest bully I ever knew. I found that the other four were perfectly cowed by him and he bullied them night and day. He immediately zeroed in on me and one morning, while saying my prayers at the foot of my bed, he took my hairbrush and spanked me as hard as he could. I stood it, not because I was a Christian but because I was a coward.

At last, having no more worlds to conquer in our room, he picked out a boy who was about two years older than he. He was reading in the sitting room on the ground floor. I liked this boy. He could draw such fine skeletons, trees, and houses on his slate, and was such a fine fellow to go walking with. That big boy stood the bullying in silence. But soon I saw two tears drop from his eyes; that was too much for me. Something immense came up in my chest and I felt like a lion. I began to spank the bully’s face as hard as I could; I spanked him again and again. He was an arrant coward. He ran upstairs and wrote a letter to his father and mother to take him home. He vanished and peace fell on our room once more. It was like Heaven.

I must now speak of my master, the Reverend Mr. Cooper. As I entered the last boy in school, I had work to make up. Mr. Cooper was an admirable teacher and heard me alone. Fortunately, my sister Lizzie had taught me to work steadily when there was work to be done, so I progressed rapidly under Mr. Cooper’s direction. At last I was allowed to join my class and I moved up several places before the assessment of our status, which took place in the summer time just before the holidays.

I was in the Second Class and had several fine classmates, the strongest and biggest of them being Jack Robinson. He was brave and kindly but no scholar. He also had a brand new Roger and Company’s four bladed knife which we all admired.

For sometime Mr. Cooper did not allow anyone to pass by the older boys. Soon I reached the seventh place in the class; mistakes then made by the three older boys in front of me, including Jack Robinson, were so bad that Mr. Cooper passed a question down to me. I answered it and went up to fourth place. After school Jack Robinson came to me and said, “Oh, Calthrop, my father and mother will never forgive me if I do not get passed on up to the next class. If I give you my four bladed knife will you let me pass you by?” This was my first temptation. I knew it was wrong so I refused.

When the first three boys were moved to the Third Class, Mr. Cooper called me up to him and said, “Calthrop, it is very unusual to move a boy up when he has been in the class only three months, but there are two or three in the Third Class who are of the same age as you. I think you ought to have a chance to become captain of the school, which you could not be if I kept you here.” So I was moved up to the Third Class. It was very kind and noble of him to do this.

Mr. Bean was an entirely different kind of man. He was a bachelor and wore silk stockings with silver buckles on his shoes and a black coat buttoned to the collar. He came to school twisting his keys around his thumb. Before I could get used to Sel Prof – which meant Seletae e Profanis Scriptoribus Historie – a terrible accident happened to me. Someone above me threw a dart made of paper that landed on old Bean’s desk. He called me up to him. “Calthrop, did you throw that dart?” “No, sir.” “That is a lie,” he said. Immediately he spanked be and put in the lowest form within the Third class. That winter had been a cold one, so my mother had Mr. Pape make me a pair of trousers so thick that you might call them a cast iron pair of breeches. Old Bean, thrash as he might, could not make me feel anything. He did cause be despair, though, by placing me at the bottom of a class of 24.

Fortunately for me, the examinations were near. It would be strange for the bottom boy to answer the hardest questions. The examiners were entirely independent of all the masters and were selected from the highest class. The two at this time were Lonsdale (who later became Bishop Lonsdale) and Dean Butler. I reached the twelfth place by examination, so old Bean had to let me move up. Old Bean never apologized to me, but plainly he felt he had wronged me because I became his favorite pupil. One day he astonished the class by saying, “Boys, I am never going to cane again.” For years he caned his fill, but after that he never did. He still set great impositions; he gave my cousin, Arthur Bonner, the whole Italian grammar – a book of three hundred pages – to write in full before he could go home for the holidays. By the end of the school year I had reached first in the Fourth class.

The summer vacation came in July. My home coming was a happy one. Father bought me a cricket bat, ball, and wickets. No one could have felt prouder than I when my brothers bowled at me and found I had a good defense. We still continued our practice in jumping, both with cat gallows and with standing jumps.

While I was home I was eager to be allowed to climb the great hay and straw stacks. We had a very large corn harvest that summer and I wanted to go up the stacks and help. The harvesters were building by far the largest stack I had ever seen. Two experts in building worked in concert, one on each side of the stack making it swell equally on each side. The other men furnished them with the best sheaves, while the experts filled up the center with ordinary sheaves.

One morning I came out and saw that the heavy ladder was actually standing straight up, without leaning inward at all. I shouted to the men that I did not dare come up. They did not realize how they were pushing the ladder out with every sheaf, and they did not think a small boy could be right and they wrong, so they shouted, “It’s all right. Come up.” I did as I was bid and climbed to the top of the ladder. Suddenly I felt the ladder was beginning to fall backwards. Instantly I shifted my weight to the other side of the ladder and jumped for my life. The very weight of the ladder helped me. I caught at a sheaf and held it. The ladder fell to the ground with a terrible crash. The men heard it and rushed to the edge of the stack to see what had happened. They found no boy at the end of the ladder for I had caught the sheaf and was holding on for my life depended on it. One of the men, Millhouse by name, threw himself on his face at the edge of the stack while the other men held onto his feet. Being very strong he lifted me up and the others caught me. To this day I thank God for my escape. If I had waited a tenth of a second before I leaped I would have been killed.

One of our great summer pleasures was being driven to our uncle’s house in Moulton Marsh. The carriage had to go through the shallow waters of “The Wash” – the very ford (shallow water crossing) King John and his barons had to cross, where he lost all his baggage and retired heartbroken and dying to Swineshead Abbey, whose ruined stones were used to build the house where I was born.

Chapter Three – Back at St. Paul’s

I entered the Fifth Class in 1841. The Reverend Charles Colby was Master of both the Fifth and Sixth Classes. It was a great relief to study under a fair minded and conscientious teacher. I soon became familiar with Virgil’s Aeneid and the history of my beloved Herodotus. In 1842 I received the prize for being head of the Fifth Class, Heyne’s Virgil in four volumes. The following year, I received Herodotus in two volumes. By this time I almost knew Herodotus by heart.

I was just thirteen years old when I entered the Seventh Class. At this level, students stayed in a class for two years. I soon became head of the class.

When I was fourteen I had a very unpleasant experience. A boy named Earle came into the class. He was dirty in appearance and for that reason the others did not like him. I did not share this feeling and encouraged the other boys to think better of him. One day he sent a message to me at the Top Form where I was sitting reading. “Tell Calthrop I will fight him after school.” Words cannot tell what terror came into my mind. He was eighteen and I was four years younger. I said nothing, but those two hours were hours of perfect misery.

Soon it was noised about that we were to fight. As boys of the Seventh Form seldom fought, boys of the Eighth Form came into the room to take charge of the fight. We were to fight in the hat room, the walls of which were made of iron and painted a dull color.

When all was ready my terror seemed to disappear. The terror in me was not being scared of Earle, it was the infinite or rather the indefinite terror of the unknown. At first I was vexed with the awkwardness of my arms. They did not seem to obey my will, but when I warmed to the fight they began to find their way to Earle’s face and to hit more and more vigorously. Soon he realized he was being beaten and he turned deliberately to the iron wall and with out-stretched thumb drove it into the wall and broke the joint. Then he turned around and apologized for stopping, saying his thumb was broken. This was the oddest end to a fight I ever heard of and though he deserved to be kicked I could not do it.

I was nearly fifteen and a half years old when I walked up the iron stairway that lead to the great school room. I saw three or four boys pulling themselves up by their hands. One boy pulled himself up and back seven times running. I waited until they had gone and then I tried to lift myself up, but found I could not do it even once. This startled me and I determined to become stronger. Day after day I practiced on the bars until I was able to lift myself twenty-two times. When I had spare time I also took an iron poker and work it with my fingers from the bottom to the top, then down again and up again. This made my wrists like iron. Then I would hold the poker out for five minutes at a time in one hand and five minutes in the other. The older boys began to call me “The Muscle Man.” There was a young man named Pritchard who was very strong because he used to go out and row every day on the Thames. In the past he had taken me by two hands and bent me to the floor in fun. One day he met me at the top of the stairs going out of school. (He was eighteen and I was fifteen.) He had not tried to put me down in some time. Close by me was a chap named Pitman. “Calthrop,” he said, “let him see how he likes it.” The mighty Pritchard had to kneel and a more astonished fellow you never saw for he was sure he could make me kneel. So my constant work with the poker had paid off.

Later, when I went home for my vacation, my two brothers were waiting for me in the dining room. “Sam, my boy,” said Richard, “you have grown a bit. (I had grown four inches in half a year.) I must put you down.” So he put his two hands in double grasp, as he had always done. “Dick,” said Everard, “the boy will put you down.” “Never!” said big brother Richard, but Richard had to kneel.

Perhaps one of the things that pleased me most of all was that now I could go into the fields and pitch the sheaves with the men. I could also go with the men in the wagon to the stack-yard and help them build the stacks.

Chapter Four – Games and Sports

The last two years of my life at St. Paul’s were perhaps of greatest benefit to me. I became captain of the school which meant I had more authority over the boys. I had to discipline the lower forms; in fact I had to chastise any boy who disregarded the rules. Alas, I had to discipline a cousin of mine who disobeyed and regret to say he never forgave me. During this period I think I learned a great deal about boys which helped me in later years.

During my last years at school I took a great interest in sports, especially cricket. We had many fine games with other schools. The game of Rugby still remains in my mind. We had become so skilled that we challenged other schools to play with us. We played them at Copenhagen Field. In one match I made the longest hit of my youth and shall always remember that game. We also had some good games with King’s College School. All of the boys at St. Paul’s School were expected to play some game so as to build up their physique.

It was at school that I began to play chess with my friend Brian. We studied openings and by so doing we played ourselves into first class form without knowing it. I became so interested that I used to go to some of the places where some England’s best players used to congregate. It must have seemed strange to see a boy of sixteen playing with some of the best in England.

While I was at school my cousin, Gordon Calthrop, who had taken his degree and was a scholar of Trinity College, Cambridge, and whose family lived in London, came and played with me from time to time. It was he who told his friends about my chess skills, for when I went to Trinity in 1845, a student came to my room and told me there was to be an extra meeting of the Trinity Chess Club that night at Vansittart’s rooms. Vansittart had been a senior classic but was now a fellow of the college. Francis, a London barrister, also was to play that night and Vansittart was no match for him. “Now, Calthrop,” he said, “we will elect you to play tonight. You are our last hope.”

At eight that evening I entered Vansittart’s rooms and found about thirty men present. I soon found Francis, who was playing with a very slow player so I played with someone else. Then the game of the evening began. The members gathered around to see us play. It was not long before I found that Francis was a first class player. He soon thought he had the best of the game, when I sacrificed two castles and mated him. He jumped from his chair and said, “That was the prettiest mate I ever saw.”

It was now supper time and we went into the dining room. If I had been invited to a banquet at Windsor Castle, there would not have been a finer display. The plate was most regal. (The club met about twelve times a year, so your time to entertain the members came once a year and your tutor gave you an order for the collage plate.) Each guest had a silver plate with hot water in it in order to keep the game warm. Great bowls of gold filled with splendid peaches and hot-house grapes decorated the table’s center. We began with partridges and ended with fruit.

Cambridge was renowned for its plate, some of it having come down from the university’s early days. I had a splendid opportunity of meeting some very fine young men there, many of whom made a name for themselves in the world.

After I had been in Cambridge for some time I became much interested in boating and rowed in many of the Trinity crews. In the May term the following scenes would take place on the Cam, which was practically a canal with a tow path. Three nights a week during that time you would see at least forty eight-oars drawn up in line with three boat lengths between each boat. The boat in front headed up the river. Hundreds of spectators were on the tow path, a truly picturesque sight, to watch their favorite boat and to cheer them as they went by. Every oarsman, not in the boats, had on his college sweater.

At the first gun each eight-oar leaves the shore and gets ready in mid-stream with the coxswain holding tight a long line. Each coxswain having a line the same length. At the second gun the oarsmen stretch forward and at the third gun they are off, the coxswain letting go his line. Pandemonium reigns. (I remember how surprised we were to read in one of Kingsley’s works, that people were shocked at the profanity of the cries, not knowing they were the names of the colleges.) To a stranger it must have sounded queer. “Go, Trinity!” “Pull, Christ!” “Look out Emanuel or Jesus will bump you!” Such were the calls you would hear all down the Cam. I well remember the excitement one day when Second Trinity was headed up the river, with a fellow student named Waddington at stroke. He also stroked the Varsity eight and so wore on his head a light blue cap. (Waddington was afterwards the French Ambassador to England as he was half English and half French.) Third Trinity was second, and being composed of Eton and Westminster men exclusively, they had boasted they would “bump” Second Trinity at the Plough, a little inn where the river makes a sharp turn. Hundreds were following along the tow path as the crews pulled. Third Trinity, gained stroke by stroke until at the Plough they overlapped Second Trinity. Waddington, a skillful captain, knew that Third Trinity was best on a spurt. Just here he called on his men and, while Third Trinity’s bow was turning to touch Second Trinity’s stern, they made a supreme effort and shot clear into the straight water. Third Trinity had shot its spurting effort and Second Trinity arrived at goal just the same distance ahead as when they started. The oars came so close to the tow path, especially at the turning at the Plough, that I could easily have touched the oars of Second Trinity with my handkerchief if I had stood on the bank as they came around the corner.

In essence, my life at Cambridge was full of very interesting events but my last year there changed the whole current of my life, ending in a great crisis.

Chapter Five – The Crisis in My Life and My Little Church

During the last year of my university life, when I was twenty-two, I went through a searching religious experience. All my life it had been my ambition to be a clergyman in the Church of England. I felt it my destiny. I had never known any other church, had been baptized in it, brought up in it, and confirmed in it. The good bishop who had confirmed me prayed, “Defend, O Lord, these servants with thy heavenly grace and make them thine forever.” It was a noble prayer.

About this time I had to attend the lectures of the Professor of Divinity and study the creeds. The Athanasian Creed was the stumbling block. It was not the work of Athanasius but was written by an unknown monk four hundred years after his death. Nevertheless, it was the creed of the Church of England. I felt reluctant to attend this professor’s lectures. The climax came when he said this about Athanasian Creed: “Gentlemen, this is the Church of England’s creed and it is my duty to tell you that, if you do not believe this, you should not as gentlemen enter the church’s ministry.” This was enough for me, and I gave up the thought of being a minister in my mother church.

I had been in college five years, but refused to graduate because no degree was given by the university authorities unless the recipient signed the thirty-nine articles of the Church of England. I left college without a degree; I could not acknowledge that I believed what my reason would not accept.

I then experienced a great darkness and depression and prayer was impossible. I declared to my friends I would not bow to such a God. I would denounce Him before the judgment throne itself, if necessary. Friends tried to influence me by talking to me. One said, “But don’t you know that God could strike you dead?” “Yes,” I replied, “anyone can gag me.”

It was not sense of my own sin that lead me to this decision; it was a deep sense of the exceeding sinfulness of a bad God. My revolt was much more a revolt of the heart from heartless doctrines than a revolt of the head from erroneous opinions. My whole soul rose in protest against this. At last I said, “If God is good, I will worship, serve Him, love Him; but if He is bad I will absolutely refuse to bow the knee.” Then a deep peace and joy fell upon me.

Saint Paul sent his loving greetings to Priscilla and Aquila, his fellow workers in Christ Jesus, and the church in his house. A church in a house! But a house is a very poor one which is not in some sense a church, a place where the great sanctities of truth and right and love are known, honored, and worshipped. My little church was smaller yet. It contained only one person – me.

No one around me could sympathize with me. They were actually afraid of me, or rather the great Idea that was in me. The message was in my heart and had to be uttered. One night I went to hear a Mr. Cosgrove, a converted soldier, who was speaking in the Methodist chapel at Sandown, Isle of Wight. I found him interesting, strong, and earnest, but quite in the dark as to the eternal mercy available to all. He said he was going to walk to Newport the next day. Something within me told me to walk that road and wait until Cosgrove came along. I saw him soon, striding with a vigorous step toward me and I joined him. I began at once to tell him of the eternal hope. He listened and we talked and talked and the man’s simple genuine nature was ready for the new revelation. A new light seemed to shine about him and with grateful adieus he went on his way rejoicing. So my little church had two members.

The awful disappointment of my parents and friends was very great. What should I do? I made up my mind that I wanted to go to America. After many prayers and questioning they gave their consent to let me go. So I said goodbye to my relatives. In the meantime my good friend, Mr. Thomas, agreed to write to our ambassador in Washington, D.C., and he gave me a glowing introduction.

I first went to Deeping Fen in Lincolnshire to see my brother, Everard. He met me at the train with our cousin, Arthur Bonner, who was studying at Oxford just what I had been studying at Cambridge. We had hardly gotten into the dog cart to be driven to my brother’s home when they began. “Sam dear,” Everard said, “Arthur and I feel sure that we can persuade you not to give up all your prospects in England to go to America.” “Supposing we wait until after dinner before we talk about it,” I said, and they agreed. We started right after dinner and talked until twelve o’clock. Then my brother went to bed quite unconvinced, while Arthur and I, who shared the same room, sat on the edge of the bed and talked until the wee hours of the morning. Finally Arthur spoke, “Sam dear, I now promise you in the presence of God, I will never preach anything but the infinite goodness of God.” My little church now had three members.

Next I went to my cousin William of Withern. He was a very able physician, later saving brother Everard’s life when the other doctors had given him up. William was very glad to see me and to my surprise he heard me as though I had been a prophet. He poured out his soul to me, “Sam, I have heard damnation preached in all the churches until I gave up going at all. It made me feel like an infidel. Now I rejoice as you do and I thank you with all my heart.” It was a great moment in my life and now my church had four members.

I soon set sail in the ship “Southhampton” bound for America. She was one of those wonderful sailing ships, the glory of the United States at that time. Among the passengers was a tall, thin, melancholy elderly man who talked freely with me and confided to me that he had committed the “unpardonable sin.” Then I preached to him the word of God, which is that God is infinitely good. He seized it at once and after we had had many talks on the glorious subject, he said he was confirmed in the Great Faith.

One day he said to me, “I greatly wish you would come down to our cabin and see my wife. She is a daughter of a D.D. in the Baptist Church who is a great theologian. She herself is somewhat of a theologian and has written a long catechism which she is teaching to our daughter, a girl of fifteen.” I went down and met a bright, plump, and smiling lady of middle age, the exact opposite of her husband. She began at once to assail me with well known texts upon which the gospel of eternal hate is founded. She quoted text after text from Genesis to Revelations. I said no word until she was finished. When she had ceased I said, “You love Jesus do you not? You believe that Jesus was good, tender, helpful, and loving, do you not?” “Oh, yes,” she said. I replied “and in this he embodied the compassion of God Himself?” “Oh, yes, I do,” she said. I continued, “And does he keep the same kind of nature in heaven?” “Yes, yes,” she cried. I exclaimed, “Then he will try and help everyone who needs his help. Therefore God, his father and ours, has forever and ever the unchanging desire to help everyone who needs help, sinful though they may be?” “Yes, I know he does,” she said. I concluded, “Then lay fast hold of that, for that is life, and let the smaller things go.” The result was dramatic. She took her catechism out of her trunk where she kept it, ran up on deck and pitched it into the sea. So now my little church had seven members, as another cousin had joined before I left England.

Chapter Six – The United States

Soon after I reached the United States I went to the office of “The Ambassador” in New York City where I was received very cordially. A clergyman there handed me a folder with my letter printed in it. He said he had had a request from a church at Southhold, Long Island, to send them a minister for a week or two. Would I go? I said I would, and went back to tell my friends.

Next day I started for Southold. It was about a hundred miles from New York. I found a boarding house and then the following Sunday I preached in the little church there. Imagine my amazement when I saw my two friends who traveled one hundred miles and back the same day. They came to thank and bless me and bid me goodbye forever in this earthly life. But they are still, though doubtless in heaven, beloved members of my little church.

The church leaders in Southhold asked me to preach again the next Sunday and then they asked me to stay. I said I would if they would pay for my board which was three dollars a week. To this they agreed, but twenty years afterwards I received a request to pay that bill which had never been paid. That was the cheapest preaching I ever did.

After I had preached in Southold three months I realized that I knew far too little of the American character to preach to them. Now the great task of studying that unique character was before me.

When I came to America on a visit in the year 1851, because I was not well, I went to Niagara and stayed at the Clifton House on the Canadian side. It was a fortunate visit for me for I met some people who influenced my life, among them Miss Elizabeth Alison Primrose, who later became my wife. I also met a Mr. Pell and was very much impressed by him. When I looked at him I said to myself, “This gentleman in England would probably be a Member of Parliament but in America he is undoubtedly a business man.” We soon got into a conversation and during our interesting talk he said, “I have four boys. They all like chess and are very fond of Tennyson. When you come to New York come and see us. We live on Great Jones Street.”

It was during this visit to America, too, that I went to West Point and saw the then Colonel Robert E. Lee, Lieutenant Alexander, Major Garnett, and others. I had been told by a friend in England to be sure and go to West Point and see the Academy and the wonderful view. I put up at a hotel that faced the north and commanded a marvelous view of the river, Storm King, Crow’s Nest, and Newburgh in the distance. The hotel was crowded with officers and their wives. Captain Peck, later General Peck, was there and I asked him if anyone played Chess. He replied, “Oh, yes, we have the best chess player in the United States here, Professor Agnel. In fact he has written a book on chess.” Then I said to him, and it might have sounded cheeky but I did not mean it so, “Tell him I am here and would like to play with him.” Although I was only twenty-one the chess magazine had spoken of me.

He called and we had a delightful time. He was pleased, isolated as he was in such things, to find a foe worthy of him. We struck up quite a friendship. Later I visited in his tent and played with him. I soon got acquainted with all the officers and they began to call me affectionately “The Englishman,” for I was the first university man they had met.

As I looked out on that beautiful river, I commented that there was no eight-oar on the water. “At Cambridge,” I said, “the water is a dirty ditch but any day one can see as many as thirty eight-oars contending.” I suggested to Lieutenant Alexander, who later became General Alexander and defended Washington, that we go boating, which we did with a fisherman. That was the first pleasure-pull ever taken at West Point. I admired the wonderful drill and perfection of the maneuvers of the cadets and remarked what a beautiful green sward they had and just the place to play cricket. The cadets played no games at all. Lieutenant Alexander said there had been a movement to get the necessary apparatus and suggested that we get permission to play.

It was the first time that I had a glimpse of Colonel Robert E. Lee. He was a splendid fellow, most gentlemanly and a soldier every inch. I was interested to see the deep respect the officers and cadets had for him. It was strange that this man commanding West Point and training the young soldiers, should later lead the Confederate Army, and his opponent should have been General U.S. Grant, another West Point man.

Colonel Lee said he would be greatly obliged to me if I would teach the officers how to play cricket, so we went to the library. I remember distinctly the words used by Lieutenant Alexander in asking for the cricket things. He said, “Can you tell me, Sir, where the instruments and apparatus are for playing cricket?” The librarian knew nothing about them and so our project came to naught.

One of the interesting things to look back upon is the fact that in talking to those men, they all told me there was no promotion in the United States army. Yet, in a few years, these friends – lieutenants, captains, majors, and colonels – had all become generals. There was General Lee, General Peck, General Alexander, General Seymour, and General Beard, all young officers of West Point when I was there a few years before.

With regard to Robert E. Lee it is interesting to note that in 1854, when I visited Harvard for the first time at the request of the crew, I went to Fort Warren and back with them and Fitzhugh Lee, Robert E. Lee’s son, was the stroke for the crew.

Before I went to Southhold, I called on Mr. Pell at his place of business. He was very glad to see me again and invited me to go home with him. He was now living at 29 Madison Avenue. (In 1851 the finest street next to Broadway was Canal Street, but New York was growing fast.) Mr. Pell’s boys were fine fellows. Alfred was a good chess player and many a game we had. Robert was the delicate one, and later became my beloved pupil.

At dinner that evening no less a person than General Scott, head of the United States army, was there. The conversation was full of news of the times. After dinner General Scott, hearing that I could play chess, challenged me to a game. It was very amusing as he talked all the time he played. “Yes, your move was good but I meet that with bishop to bishop’s fourth.” So it went on all the time. Soon his position became desperate but he was unconscious of it and pointed to his complete answer until he was check-mated. I was told afterwards that he was called in the army “Fuss and Feathers,” but he proved to be a good general in the Mexican war. After the first battle of Bull Run a soldier came to him and said, “General Scott, we are defeated.” His reply was, “I am not defeated, Sir.” Such was the man’s spirit.

About this time William Thackery came to this country and was entertained by Mr. and Mrs. Pell, the latter a very charming woman. He told us he was going to lecture on the “Four Georges.” He gave Mrs. Pell a pen and ink drawing which he sketched while at the table. It was a scene from “The Tattler.” His lecture on George the First was very interesting and his fine voice was full of power and his wit was delightful.

About this time my brother-in-law, Thomas Webster, came from England to try a case for the Mackintosh Company of London. Said company being the inventors of the use of rubber. We had a fine time together and I took him to see Mr. Pell who invited him to dinner. After the dinner Mr. Pell asked him, “Mr. Webster, may I ask what your brother is doing?” “He is preaching in the little village of Southold, Long Island,” replied Thomas. “I tell him he should teach,” said Mr. Pell. “With his training at St Paul’s School and at Trinity College, Cambridge, he would be invaluable to us. Our need for such a teacher is very urgent.”

When I returned to Southold Mr. Pell wrote me a very fine letter saying he would be delighted to have me come and teach his son Robert who was in Columbia, but was not very strong and he feared he could not get through college: “The schools are all provided with teachers for this year, but you will have an opportunity to see for yourself how teachers with your training are needed.”

I gave up my parish at Southold and came to New York and soon I learned to love my dear pupil very much. He was a fine fellow and we had the best of times studying Virgil and Herodatus together. I also got him to exercise and try to build up his frail physique.

I found a boarding place with an Irish family, a man and his wife, who had come from Ireland with their boys and girls. They sent their children to the public schools of New York and the daughters became teachers and the sons fine business men. What a revolution in one generation!

One day when I was stopping for dinner at Mr. Pell’s, Mrs. Pell said to me, “I saw Mr. Heckster today. He is a coal merchant, and his son is at Mr. Such’s school in Bridgeport, Connecticut. He said, ‘I want Mr. Such to travel with my son in Europe next fall, but I feel bound to obtain a new head for the school. Do you know of anyone who would fit?’ Of course, I thought of you.”

Chapter Seven – Boy Region

So at last I found myself at Bridgeport, Connecticut, in charge of a boys’ school. I received a hearty welcome from all of them. Mrs. Such was glad to see me, and his housekeeper, Miss Housely, was perfect. Mr. Such had heard that my qualifications were first class; letters from my teachers in England had been very fine, as was the recommendation from Mr. Pell.

Some of the boys were still at school. One young man, a Mr. Forbes, the son of the well known Mr. Forbes, was preparing for the sophomore class at Harvard. Two others were preparing to enter their father’s vast business in New York. The school, in fact, was founded by members of the “Four Hundred” of New York City.

The house faced the harbor of Bridgeport and was only a few yards from the water. A shed on the right made a capital place for the boys to take off their clothes and put on bathing suits and slip into the water.

There was a good playground behind the house and at the north was a large barn where some of the boys kept chickens. The older boys rode for exercise and were able to get fine horses in the town as there were many good stables.

When I began at the school in early summer, I needed a new pair of trousers. My purse was reduced to a two and a half dollar gold piece so purchasing something was a dilemma. My trunk was full of the splendid prize books I had won at school. I could certainly sell one or two of those; the Russian leather prizes, Cramer’s “Asia Minor,” for instance. So I began selling them. In addition, within a week I had fifteen hundred dollars in my pocket as payment on each boy’s entrance, as was the rule.

I started with fifteen boys. The tuition for each was four hundred a year and twenty dollars more a year for French and music. Here I was to learn the character of Americans. For me this was absolutely essential.

Miss Housely informed me that all the clothes were washed in the house. Kate, the laundress, was admirable and was paid eight dollars a month; Mary the chambermaid, six dollars, and the cook who was very good, got I know not what.

The house was well arranged for a school. Two prettily furnished bedrooms were set aside for mothers or fathers of the boys who wished to visit the school and see the workings of it and what the boys were being taught.

The bedrooms for the boys were neat and clean and each bed had a good horsehair mattress. One room downstairs was the school room, and the drawing room was very comfortable with an open wood fireplace. In the front of the house was a nice veranda looking out on the water.

Each day I said prayers before breakfast and supper and on Sunday had a short service in the afternoon. When the service was over, I asked the boys to come in, one at a time, and had each read a single verse from the bible, usually from the Psalms or the New Testament. The boys had a reverence for the bible and this helped me. Sometimes I felt dull in mind when I began to talk to a boy, but soon beautiful words of the Eternal Father began to speak through me to His child. This was my great harvest time.

The school had been accustomed to the Episcopal Church, so every Sunday morning I used to take all of my pupils there. It was a very pleasant walk through shaded streets and the service was well conducted.

When I had been about two years in Bridgeport, I invited my two dear sisters, Penelope and Ellen, to come and live with me at the school. They accepted and came on the steamer “Africa” to New York.

A business man in New York had a boy in the school. He heard that I was coming to New York to meet my sisters and wrote me to say that he and his family were going south, but his suite of rooms at the Brevoort House would be vacant. He invited me to bring my sisters there. Everything was paid for already and he hoped everything would be done to make them comfortable. The Brevoort House was one of the best hotels in New York at that time.

I met them at the dock and took them to the hotel at once and they were surprised by the elegance of their private rooms, the kindness of my good friends, and the arrangements that had been made for our comfort. They, of course, were weary from the voyage sea and the good rest made them feel like themselves. The hotel owner came and hoped we would not hesitate to ask for anything we wanted, as my friend had especially asked him to do everything in his power to make us feel perfectly at home.

It was bitterly cold and very wintry in New York, so I was glad to get my sisters to Bridgeport. Dear Miss Housely made them feel at home at once. Penelope was about eight years older than me – such a sweet and gentle character – but Ellen was just twenty and very pretty. She won the hearts of the boys at once.

They had been to Bridgeport about a year when Ellen opened her heart to me. “Before I left England,” she said, “dear mother took me and we went over text after text in the Bible, Old and New Testaments, showing how wrong you are in your theology, so I came here eager to show you. I thought you would begin the first day, but you said nothing at all. Then I heard your little talks and sermons to the boys and you never mentioned such things at all. Your talks to friends made a deep impression on me. After six months your ideas were in my heart and head and I felt they were my own.” So my little church kept on growing.

Chapter Eight – Physical Training

While visiting Mr. Pell in New York, I was taken ill and they called a leading physician to see me. He was very kind and wrote a fine testimonial for me when I went to the Bridgeport school. We had many talks and he begged me to explain the nature of sexual instinct to all the boys who were old enough to need the instruction. I told him I had resolved to do this important duty for the boys.

It was not long after I began to teach that one of the most interesting boys came to me after the summer vacation and told me his story. “Before I came to you, I was at a school where a great revivalist, by invitation of the head master, came to preach to the pupils for six weeks. The boys were intensely excited and all were converted. When the revivalist had gone, a boy brought a vile book that was full of indecent pictures. Then all the boys began self-abuse. When I came to your school, the games you played with us took away from me all sexual desire. During mid-summer holidays I went with my parents to a hotel just outside the grounds of West Point. The food was very rich and I took no exercise. Now I beg you to help me.”

I put a bath in his room and filled it with cold water and said, “The moment you feel any temptation, sit down in the cold water till the desire leaves you. Dry yourself and get back in bed, but promise me solemnly to come to me if you fail.” It was not long before he conquered.

It was later that I heard Rainsford of St. John’s College, Cambridge, who was at the great church of St. George in New York near the slums, talk about his work there. One thing he said was, “Of course, gentlemen, you understand that young men in general cannot keep chaste unless they constantly take strenuous exercise.”

When I began to teach, I was surprised how little the boys knew about play. Almost the only game they knew was marbles in a round ring and they only drizzled on the ground; whereas, when I was a boy we plumped and always had to hit the marble we aimed at before it hit the ground at all. I at once began to teach them cricket and hockey. I also bought a fine, safe boat which was built after the model I gave to the New York boat builder.

We played at hockey both winter and summer; in winter we played right through the snow. At eleven o’clock, the moment that the morning school was over, the cry “hogseye” was called and we rushed out. We soon began to play very well indeed. We played against the young men preparing for college who were in the house of my kind friend Mr. Jones, a Yale man. They were twice as big as our boys, but our boys took the ball right through them all the same.

Soon, Thanksgiving Day began to be the special day when our own old boys came to play hockey, but we kept improving so fast that the “old boys” were always beaten.

I started teaching them cricket on our own ground, but they improved so fast that I made a fine ground on the common about half a mile away. One Sunday afternoon I gave them a little sermon on “Cricket Religion.” I said that the boy who played well should always teach newcomers how to play so they, too, could soo