[llustrated Tnterviows.

No. XVL—THIL RV, Jo Lo Co WELLDON (HEAD MASTER

OF HARROW)

THE REV, ], I'roie a Photograph by Elliott £ ry.

T was on the last Saturday of the term that I made my way to “the top of the Hill 7—— a Saturday as famous as welcome to every boy in Harrow —famous, for was not the last house match of the season to be played in the afternoon? whilst in the evening, as the bells chimed half-past six, were not the bovs to gather in the specch-room and once

again sing the dear old songs of FHarrow ?

Welcome ! Only a few more hours, and then

for home and holidays. Yet there were one

or two boys with sad and breaking hearts. It was therr last Saturday at Harrow ! Their faces told of their feelings within, T came across one handsonic young fellow in the chapel—sitting silently in his accustomed seat. He was crying bitterly. He scarce knew why—why his eyes should fill— At the thought of the IIill, And the wild regret of the last gzod-Dbye.

o C. WELLDON,

“They sometimes searcely know how (o lcave my study,” said Mr. Welldon, in his kindly way, “when it comes to the last word of advice and a final grip of the hand.”

The sight of these fow boys who were leaving, wandering listlessly about the meadows and the school buildings, only substantiated what was to be read on Mr, Welldon’s kind and open face. He is a model schoolmaster. He Zuozes every boy in the school. Heis a homely teacher. As a Public School-boy himself—for he is an old litonian, and the only living link between Lton and Harrow—he seeks not only to posc as the teacher at the table, but as the puptl at the desk. Here lies the seerct of scholastic sympathy, the carrying out of which realizes true teaching. Then Mr. Welldon loves fun. T would that you could hear the hearty laugh with which he accompanied the delightful stories he told me.