His greatest feat, achieved in the face of cruel unpopularity, was the abolition of Montem. He was wise enough to see that a custom, kindly and picturesque in old days, must, with the arrival of the railway, which did away with all the privacy of Eton, degenerate into an ugly saturnalia. So long as the festival was confined to the friends and relations of the boys, it was all very well to collect from parents, old boys and their friends “Salt,” a sum destined to help the senior colleger in his first year at Cambridge. But now, with the influx of a mob from London, it must become a degradation. Many influences were against him, not in Eton alone, but in the greater world outside; wisely he stuck to his guns, and Montem ceased to exist. Generous as always, when the triennial feast came round in 1847, he gave, out of his own purse, to the parents of the boy who would have profited by the “Salt” a present of three hundred pounds. How strong the feeling was is shown by the fact that on that day some of the masters were stoned on their way to school. It is only fair to say that Provost Hodgson, who succeeded Goodall, backed up the Head Master in this crisis. I may record another instance of his large-hearted love of giving. An old friend and colleague of his had got himself into financial difficulties. Hawtrey could not see the home of a brilliant man broken up and himself brought to a pecuniary misery. He paid up all debts and set his friend free. He was rewarded by the blackest and most treacherous ingratitude. He never uttered a reproach, but I have reason to know that he was cut to the quick. He suffered in silence. Such was the dear old man who bent down to welcome me, the little boy whom he had known in petticoats, on my first entry into his kingdom. Smiling and laughing, brimming over with kindness, he regaled me with all sorts of delightful old-time tales of his own school days, little experiences all chosen because in them there was just a taste of schoolboy wisdom: some useful hint conveyed with fun and merriment; advice not flung like a cricket ball at the youngster’s head, but just brought out in such a way as to be reassuring and encouraging. That luncheon was a memorable episode in a memorable day, and it was the first link in a long chain of kindnesses which lasted during the eight years that I was at Eton, and did not abate until the good man’s death in 1862.