gate and turned down the lane. His heart stood still as he saw Dr. Veronal's motor-car waiting at Mrs. Gateham's door.

With his legs almost sinking beneath him he went up to the chauffeur, who was sitting in the car.

No one ill, I hope,' he heard his own voice say as from far away.

Oh, it's only the baby, sir,' said the chauffeur in a reassuring tone.

Only the baby! bear no more.

The Master knew the worst. He could He turned back and staggered home again. He crept up to the library and sat hour after hour, face to face with despair.

There would be an inquest. What would the doctor's report be? Would they diagnose any known disease, or would marks of violence appear? Would the verdict be murder against some person or persons unknown? Or, terrible thought, would suspicion fall on the nurse? One thing was clear. Sooner than let an innocent woman suffer, he must give himself up.

But would he be believed? Could he convince a legally minded judge and a jury of common-sense Oxbridge tradesmen that he had unwittingly killed the Tutor's baby by the action of an Irish curse aimed at a supposititious cat? How could he prove his absurd contention? Should he offer to demonstrate his power on one of the jury to be chosen by lot? The judge might not allow it; perhaps even the juryman himself would object; there was not much public spirit in that class of person. There seemed no way out; gloom settled deeper and deeper on the Master's mind.

Jenkins brought some soup. He let it get cold.

Jenkins laid the table for tea. He ate nothing, but drank four cups feverishly.

Presently there was a ring at the bell. He tried to go out on to the landing to say he would see no one, but his legs refused their office.

He heard the visitor come in. Then he heard Gateham's voice. Had the Tutor discovered the truth? Had he come to exact retribution, or merely to tell his old friend the sad news? Hullo, Master! Sorry to hear you are seedy,' Gateham said. I was out when you came this morning. That young ass Harkaway has come to grief hunting again.'

6

Have you been home?' asked the Master in a hollow voice.
Just went in to get a cup of tea and see how they were

getting on,' was the answer. 'Veronal came after lunch to vaccinate the baby. My wife has had rather a bad time.'

'I'm delighted to hear it,' gasped the Master, with an audible sob of relief.

'Eh! What? I said Mary was rather done up,' the Tutor said in surprise.

'I mean I'm so glad it's nothing worse,' the Master answered in confusion. I saw Veronal's car at your door-most anxious all the afternoon-great relief . . .' and he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

'I say, Mary,' said the Tutor to his wife that evening, with a chuckle, you've made a conquest of the Master. You'll have to be careful. He made himself quite ill this afternoon because he saw Veronal's motor at our house. Thought Veronal had come to see you. He was in despair till I told him it was only young tuppence being vaccinated. What have you done to bewitch the old boy?'

Meanwhile, in the twilight, the Master made a systematic and exhaustive search in the garden and shrubbery. At length, in a bed of Michaelmas daisies, he found the body of a fine tabby cat. He buried it with full honours.

The relief experienced by the Master was not a thing to be expressed in words. He thanked God-yes, God-that he was not guilty of the innocent blood of that infant.

But, as he lay awake in the silent watches of the night, he came clearly to see that this horrible power was not safe in his hands. Through no care of his own he had been preserved from a dreadful act-one which would have embittered his whole remaining life.

There was one chance. Tim, the Irish butler, had suggested that Father O'Hanagan might know a way of exorcising the dæmon and freeing mankind for ever from the curse of the O'Reillys. At the time, he had scoffed at the idea. Now he had come to regard it as his one faint hope of salvation. He would go to Ireland at once.

Next morning he wrote to the Tutor, who was also ViceMaster, that urgent business called him away for some days. He told Jenkins to pack a small bag, and he took a return ticket to Galway.

He

He knew his friend was away. He was glad of it. drove to the town nearest the house and put up at the inn. Next day he started on foot and sought the cottage where

Tim lived with his wife and family in the intervals of his duties. Tim was at home.

The Master found some difficulty in explaining the object of his visit.

'Want to destroy the curse entoirely,' exclaimed Tim, when he understood. It's Mrs. Doherty will be sad to think her curse should die. Couldn't yer honour pass the curse to me now?' he said coaxingly. Sure, and I wouldn't use it,' he added hastily, as the Master emphatically refused, barrin' just now and thin-'twould be mighty convanient to go racin' wid-and mebbe sometimes win I had a bit af a book agin' the favorit' at Ballyscraggan races."

The Master felt that he had not fully appreciated the opportunities given by the possession of a curse like his in a highly civilised age. But, nevertheless, he was firm.

Reluctantly Tim confessed that he had heard of another way, and agreed to call in Father O'Hanagan.

The Master never revealed what followed.

Once more the Master returned to Oxbridge. Once more he told Jenkins to bring tea to the library. This time he sat and watched deliberately with beating heart for the sight of a stray cat.

After two hours' vigil one appeared. to the lawn, in full sight of the window. like a prayer in his heart—

He let it get well on Then, with something

'Con-con-f-found that cat,' said the Master.

The cat yawned, licked one of its paws, scratched its right ear, and walked on.

The Master sank on his knees by the window.

We extract the following announcements from the editorial comments of the Oxbridge Magazine' about two years later :

'A meeting of the Freshmen's Christian Union was held on Wednesday last. The Master of St. Cuthbert's read a paper on "The Necessity of the Supernatural Element in Religion."

'We are glad to see that the number of Matriculations in the University again breaks the record. Among Colleges with notable increases is St. Cuthbert's, which has partially recovered the fall it experienced during the last few years.'

W. C. D. AND C. D. WHETHAM.

FLOWERS OF THE THAMES AND CAM:

MEMORIES OF ETON AND KING'S.

My Eton recollections reach back far; my father having been first a master, then a Fellow of Eton for many years. I was not more than eight years old when Joseph Goodall, who was then Provost, died; but I remember something of his dignified bearing, seeing him in the Gallery now and then. His appearance has been kept before me by an engraving from his portrait, which passed from my father to me, and now hangs in my study. And I can well remember his funeral.

Goodall's connexion with Eton was long: a boy there, he passed as a Scholar to King's, then became a master at Eton, and Headmaster in 1802; he was then Provost for thirty-one years up to his death in 1840. Thus, out of a long life of eighty years, probably not much less than seventy were spent at Eton. At Cambridge he twice gained Sir William Browne's medal for epigrams, in 1781 and 1782. His pair for 1782 are particularly short and pointed.

Stans pede in uno

IN STATUAM MERCURII

Sum tibi Mercurius. Quaeris cur sto pede in uno?
Scilicet hoc hodie contigit esse lucrum.

To this epigram belonged something humorous which does not at once appear. Every exercise competing for a prize at Cambridge had to be sent in with a motto (the name of the author being sealed up and sent separate. But this motto did not afterwards appear in the printed exercise. Goodall sent in as motto the words of Horace, Sumite materiam vestris. Now, Madame Vestris was a well-known dancer then; and, doubtless, found gain by dancing. The parallel between Mercury, god of gain, and the goddess of pirouettes was very neat. I heard about this motto from my father. From Goodall I most likely took the idea of putting something of my joke in my motto, when to my epigram on Cum tunicis sumet nova consilia et spes I sent in as motto 'Dexter ades,' with allusion to Caroline Dexter, then lady patroness of the shortened raiment. This was just seventy years after Goodall. He twice won the medal

for epigrams. So did Okes, our King's Provost, with an extra prize in 1820.

Dr. Goodall did not like innovations. Mrs. Grover, the widow of one of the Fellows, told my mother in my hearing this story about him. In those days at the evening parties in the Cloisters there were always card tables set out. But once a lady, wife of a new Fellow, thought to reform and raise the tone of the College, and at her first party omitted the card tables. Disconsolate at this, for the old gentleman liked his rubber at quadrille or whist, Dr. Goodall went banging up and down the One is reminded of Mrs. Proudie at her entertainment

in Barchester Palace.

A good scholar of the early years of the nineteenth century was H. H. Knapp. He was assistant master, then Lower Master, for many years. One of his intimate friends was my a boy, and afterwards while they I keep in my memory the second line of a Latin couplet, in which my father asked him and another to come out for a walk after twelve.

father, whom he knew as were colleagues as masters.

Optime mi Ferior, Somniculusque veni.

Ferior was Wilder, probably Charles Wilder, my godfather. Somniculus was Knapp.

Knapp died at Rome in 1845; he had left Eton under financial difficulties. My father was much with him, though not on his dramatic excursions with Ben Drury. He was sui temporis literis eruditus, as is shown by some translations from modern languages in his Tempora Subseciva' of 1835. This little volume has many pretty things in it. And in the list of subscribers to it are some well-known names, e.g. J. G. Lockhart (Scott's son-in-law) and W. E. Gladstone. Knapp was Gladstone's tutor.

John Wilder was Epigrammatist at Cambridge in 1823. He came into the Cloisters as Fellow in 1840. Of his generosity to the College others have written. He was a large-hearted. delightful man. We boys liked his sermons, and (what is more) some of us did things he told us to do. Our family was intimate with the Wilders, and John Wilder often joined us younger ones in singing glees, etc. He had a good tenor voice. Especially do I remember the zest with which he sang in Of all the brave birds that ever I see, The Owl,' etc.