After being under the care of a tutor until he was eleven years old, Baden-Powell was sent to a preparatory school at Tunbridge Wells, and remained there for two years, leaving it at the end of that time with the sincere regret of his master, who had found him an admirable example to his fellows. In 1870 he was admitted, on the Duke of Marlborough's nomination, to the Foundation of Charterhouse, then in its ancient quarters near Smithfield. Two years later he went with the Foundation to its new home near Godalming, and there remained, an inmate of Mr. Girdlestone's house, until 1876. Of these six years of Baden-Powell's life it is necessary to say something, if one wishes to form an accurate idea of their importance in moulding and strengthening his character. School-life exercises a vast influence upon a boy's future career; it may make or mar it; it is certain, indeed, that he cannot go through it without receiving influences of the most paramount importance. All the world knows now what manner of man Baden-Powell is; all the world has no doubt wondered what sort of boy he was in his days of school-life. I recently visited the Charterhouse in order to ask Dr. Haig-Brown, who was Headmaster of the Charterhouse School from 1863 to 1897, and has since then been Master of the Charterhouse, if he would tell me something about his old pupil. There was a certain amount of satisfaction in setting foot within the precincts of a place so closely associated with one of the men of the moment; there was a strong and restful sense of relief, too, in escaping from the whirl and roar of London's crowded streets into so delightful a haunt of peace as that which lies in their very midst. Between the noise and bustle of the much-thronged thoroughfares about Smithfield and the cloistral quiet of the Master's Lodge in the Charterhouse there was a difference intensely welcome to a lover of quiet places, and I could not help thinking as I sat in Dr. Haig-Brown's study, with the noise of the outer world reduced to a low and easy murmur, that there must have been moments during the siege of Mafeking when Baden-Powell's mind turned to the grey walls and quaint gables of his old school with perhaps a little longing for the peace which broods there always. It was easy to see that the thought and memory of the old Carthusian was cherished there. In Dr. Haig-Brown's study hung a picture of the face now familiar to all of us through the medium of innumerable illustrated newspapers and magazines, the good-humoured, strong face, shadowed by the big hat, and in one of the drawing-rooms stood a small table gaily decorated with red, white and blue ribbons, whereon had been gathered together a collection of little objects--some of them the penny wares of the London street vendors--associated with the name of the hero of Mafeking. It was easy to see, too, that Baden-Powell was deeply placed in the affections of his old schoolmaster. Dr. Haig-Brown spoke of