Allusion to these garments reminds me of a case where grave misunderstanding arose. It was in the year 1876, I suppose: for it was in that year that the system of payment of grant was altered. If a school chose to present itself for examination in certain subjects, whereof needlework was one, there was a grant of 2_s._ per head--that is, double the former grant--attainable in case of success. But, though the special and extended examination was optional, the teaching of plain sewing and the display of garments were still compulsory. Soon after the change in the Code I was at--let us call it “Layton”--school, the manager of which was a valued friend of mine, and an apostle of education; for many merits esteemed throughout the county. At the end of the ordinary inspection I asked for the garments. The mistress, with apparent surprise, told me there were none. But, in accordance with the Code, I insisted on seeing some as a condition of the grant: I had to certify something in the formal report. After some delay she produced a shirt, and said that was all that was available. I examined and cross-examined that shirt before lady managers and teachers, and, as I afterwards remembered, covered myself with disgrace by complaining that it had no “gusset” somewhere: it was pointed out to me in the plainest language, that apparently I was not aware that a shirt might have either a “gusset,” or a “yoke,” and this had a yoke. So we patched up a peace and went to lunch, oppressor and oppressed. But in the report I complained of the scanty supply of garments, and some correspondence followed. It was not till some days had gone by that an explanation reached me circuitously. There were garments in abundance, but they were not meet for the male eye, and they were hidden away: “’Tis better to have sewn and hidden away Than never to have sewn at all.” There are instances in the Classical Dictionary of males who were over-curious: I forget the details, but I remember that their end was disastrous. Fortunately on this occasion I was innocent in intention and unsuccessful in action. But I sent the Rector the following lines, and we made friends again: Chorus of Spinsters. Have you heard the sad news? How they’ve dared to abuse The sewing our girls do at Layton? The man must be worse than Satan! What next? No wonder the Powells are vexed. There’s the poor dear Rector, Who fed the Inspector On his best ’Thirty-four, Says he’ll give _him_ no more: And Miss Lucy, his daughter, Says she’d put him on bread and water: And Miss Taylor, the mistress, Overwhelmed with _dis_tress: And pretty Miss Ball, She’s worse than them all, And says “Drat him,” She’d like to get at him, And she’s strongly inclined To give him a bit of her mind.