In the sixties, I believe, there used to be a school Derby lottery every year, the winner of which generally got about £25. The arrangements for this seem to have been placed in the hands of a well-known character about the “wall” named “Snip,” but he had died or disappeared long before my day, and the only lottery I remember was a tiny private affair, the tickets of which cost sixpence or a shilling. In connection with this subject it is said that of late years betting amongst the boys has become a serious evil. If this is the case, the school must have undergone a considerable change in its ideas within the last quarter of a century. In the late seventies and early eighties there was practically no betting at all amongst the boys, chiefly for the reason just given, but also because there existed a widespread idea that any attempt at speculation would eventually lead to loss of money. A good many boys, no doubt, who had a love for the Turf looked forward to gratifying a taste for speculation in time to come, whilst others told extravagant tales of Turf triumphs during the holidays, but few took racing seriously, their interest being limited to flocking to the post-office to hear the first news as to the winner of any great race. A salient proof that at that date no real betting existed was the sensation caused amongst us by the rumour, based on truth, that a new boy (the son of the Maharajah Duleep Singh, whose arrival at Eton created some sensation), on being spoken to by a member of the eight in the school-yard, had offered to bet him a fiver against a certain horse, which wager had been accepted. This was the largest wager we ever heard of as being made at Eton, and it was looked upon as extraordinary. On the other side of the High Street, opposite to the establishment where Solomon ironed hats and gave forth his wisdom, a younger rival also doctored battered “toppers.” As far as I can remember, he was a far rougher individual than the racing sage, and possessed a tendency towards familiarity which was not universally popular. He and Solomon both resembled each other in one respect, which was their taste for plastering every available inch of their walls with cuts and paragraphs from cheap papers of a comic order.