"Montem," so called, perhaps, from the ceremony of a boy flourishing a flag on a small mount, occurs every third year, when the upper boys are dressed as officers, and the fags, resembling sailors, in white trowsers and blue jackets. Thus they are obliged to expose themselves to a multitude, while they walk to Salt Hill, where they dine. As an Eton boy, I have witnessed four Montems, and could never think of each but as a ridiculous, tedious, and detestable performance; the only good resulting is, that the captain of the collegers receives several hundreds of pounds, which are collected from the crowd by other collegers in fancy dresses, and denominated "salt-bearers," and "runners," who dun high and low for "salt." CHAPTER II. "How old are you, Graham?" asked my future tutor. "Nine, if you please, sir." "Can you do sense-verses?" "No, sir, only nonsense ones." "Well, you are placed in the upper Greek; be in eight-o'clock-school to-morrow. Graham," calling me back, "take this order to the book-seller, and he will give you the requisite school-books. It is Greek grammar in the morning; get a boy to show you where the lesson is. You may go." So soon as I had procured the books, I peeped into the Greek grammar, which struck me as being an interesting-looking book, for hitherto, I had never even seen a Greek letter. I went to my Dames, where I found Tyrrel _ma_, and Kennedy, who shared my room, playing at battledore. "You don't care for the row, Graham, do you?" asked Tyrrel, after they had played half an hour, and observing that I looked a little puzzled. "Oh, that makes no difference," I sighed, "but this Greek is such odd stuff, and I don't know a letter in the alphabet except the four first ones. Can you give us a help?" After a lengthened debate among us, the only apparent chance for me was, that the lesson should be written out in English letters, so that when I repeated it, I should appear to know my lesson. This, Tyrrel good-naturedly effected for me. At eight o'clock, then, the next morning, in due routine, I approached the master in his desk, under the same superstitious awe as poor Friday, when he cowered before the august Crusoe. I would not have failed in my performance for worlds, and now entered the desk resolved on acquitting myself to perfection. My ardour was not slightly damped when, on uttering a few words, the master, with a frown, demanded why I had not commenced where the previous boy had left off. "I thought, sir, that I was to begin at the beginning." "What business have you to think?" Commencing, then, as he directed me, I had no sooner recited four lines, than he ordered me to "go." "That's not all, if you please, sir." "It's quite enough for me; go."