428 1THI

more, where a couple of hours soon went by. At length the match was over, and masters, boys, and {riends were on then way to the specch-room. At half-past six the sweet voices of the school twelve would once again sing the ever-to-be-remembered songs of Harrow, while the whole school would “ chorus.” with lusty voices and hearts hrim- ming over, so that you might hear the music at the bottom of the Hill. The specch-room presented a pieture not to be forgotten

these Harrow boys singing with not a thought of the life that was before them. As they sang, many an old Harrovian - sat there silent and listened carnestly, thinking of the days when their ages were the same as thosc who were merrily shouting i—

Lyon of Preston, yecoman John, Many a year ago

Built on the Hill that T hive on— A school, that you all may know.

capital AWas

How well *The Nimer = a cricketing song, written by Mr. Bowen rattled through ! Tt told of a champion of the field---

O ericketers never a finer, From Nottinghamshire to China, But ke never could manage a niner!

However, one day he struck a majestical blow, and ran the nine. Unfortunately he came to grief in the last verse -—

STRAND

M AGAZINT.

And jusi as the niner was done and entire 1o threw himself down to rejolee (and perspire) — S Ope shord,” said the fair and impartial umpire !

Boo-hoao !

So he gave up and went and ate dees, Of various colours and sizes, And dicd of pulmonary phthisis, Boo-hoo ! Boo-hoo ! Boo-hoo !

Mr. Welldon turned to me. “One of the youngest boys in the school he said, as a little fellow came forward,

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“is aboul to sing a song written by one of my collecagues—Mr. L. W Howson. Listen to the words he will sing—he tells of what is in his heart to-dav, and the whole school will reply with what he may fecl i the davs to come.”

And the dittde boy sang, and the school replied -

Iive hundred faces, and all so strange . Life in front of me—home behind, I felt ke a waf bhefore the wind Tossed on an ocean of shock and change.

Chosees. N et the dme may come, as the years go by, When your heart will thrill At the thought of the Hill, And the day that you came, sostrange andshy.

A quarter to seven ! there goes the bell ! The sleet is driving against the pane : Lt woe to the stlugeard who turns again And sleeps not wisely but all too well !

Chorees. Vet the time may come, as the vears voll by, When vour heart will thrill At the thought of the Hill, And the pitiless bell, with its piercing ey,