The time most looked forward to by the Juniors was “Long Meads”—_i.e._, that time in summer when Toy-time was dispensed with—and we went every evening (and on holidays in the afternoon also) on to Hills, or rather to “Underhills,” as we did not go up St Catherine’s Hill, but ranged the meadows below. On such evenings the Fag who was unable to swim would have his education completed in that respect. The method of instruction was well calculated for the end in view, but not, strictly speaking, agreeable to the pupil. The course was much in this way:—Four boys would take the tyro, one by each arm and leg, and, with “once, twice, thrice, and away,” send him flying into the middle of “Pot”—_i.e._, a lock full of water. On emerging half choked, he would be supported for an instant by one or two other boys already in the water, and then, by an energetic pressure on the shoulders with their hands, followed up by a kick when he had descended to their feet, he would be sent to investigate the pebbles at the bottom. A few evenings of this generally gave the victim a notion of how to support himself in the water. An Inferior was not allowed to bathe in Pot till he could prove his swimming powers by swimming from Tunbridge to Pot, a distance of about a quarter of a mile. The other favourite bathing places were “Milk Hole,” immediately below Pot; and Tunbridge—_i.e._, that part of the river near the bridge of that name. In the latter place I remember seeing some practical jokes played that were nearly proving serious. In one case, a new boy, somewhat taller and bigger than the average, and a good swimmer, when going to bathe in Tunbridge for the first time, asked if it was deep enough for a header. On being told that it was, he took a run and jumped in, and (the water being low at the time, and even when full not more than four feet and a half deep) cut himself severely about the face and chest. On another occasion, one boy pushed another into the river, clothes and all, close to the open hatch, through which the water was rushing furiously; he was carried through a ten-foot brick tunnel, and rolled out on the stones below; providentially he was not much hurt. Another practical joke, of which Tunbridge was the theatre, was a more meritorious proceeding than those previously described. There was a ruffian who was always lurking about trying to sell spirits to the small boys. He had often been threatened with condign punishment if caught. At last he was taken in the fact, and summarily punished, by being thrown into Tunbridge. He was a tall man, and the water, when he recovered his legs, did not come higher than his waist; but that by no means prevented his swearing at the trial that subsequently took place at Quarter Sessions, that it was out of his depth, and he was nearly drowned. On his cross examination, when asked how he got out, he admitted that he walked out. This trial created a great excitement, not only in College, but in the town, and the