No other school exercises such an attraction over its old boys as Eton, with many of whom the traditions of the place become almost a second religion. “I hate Eton,” the writer once heard an individual who had been educated elsewhere frankly say, “for whenever I come across two or three old Etonians, and the subject is mentioned, they can talk of nothing else.” The affection felt for the school is the greatest justification for its existence; an educational institution which can inspire those sent there with a profound and lasting pride and belief in its superiority over all other schools, must of necessity possess some special and fine qualities not to be found elsewhere. The vast majority of boys experience a vague feeling of sentimental regret when the time for leaving arrives--they have a keen sense of the break with a number of old and pleasant associations, soon to become things of the past--the school yard and the venerable old buildings, so lovingly touched by the hand of Time, never seem so attractive as then, whilst the incomparable playing fields, in their summer loveliness, acquire a peculiar and unique charm. As a gifted son of Eton, the late Mr. Mowbray Morris, has so well said, “shaded by their immemorial brotherhood of elms, and kissed by the silver winding river, they will stand undimmed and unforgotten when the memory of many a more famous, many a more splendid scene has passed away.” [SN: FOUNDATION] For the true Etonian there is no such thing as a final parting from these surroundings, the indefinable charm of which remains in his mind up to the last day of his life. Fitly enough, this love for Eton, handed on from generation to generation, and affecting every kind of disposition and character, has been most happily expressed by a poet who was himself an Etonian--John Moultrie. May his lines continue to be applicable to the old school for many ages to come! And through thy spacious courts, and o’er thy green Irriguous meadows, swarming as of old, A youthful generation still is seen, Of birth, of mind, of humour manifold: The grave, the gay, the timid, and the bold, The noble nursling of the palace hall, The merchant’s offspring, heir to wealth untold, The pale-eyed youth, whom learning’s spells enthrall, Within thy cloisters meet, and love thee, one and all. The history of the College has been so ably written by Sir Henry Maxwell Lyte, that it would here be superfluous to do more than touch upon a few incidents of special interest. Henry VI., unlike the warlike Plantagenets from whom he sprang, was essentially of studious disposition, and the foundation of a college--one of his favourite schemes, almost from boyhood--was a project which he at once gratified on reaching years of discretion. In 1441, when nineteen, he granted the original charter to “The King’s College of our Lady of Eton besides Wyndsor.”