After chapel on the last morning all the boys, with the second master at their head, marched round the quadrangle, singing the beautiful Latin hymn commencing with _Jam lucis orto sidere_; they then adjourned to Sixth, where the journey money was distributed, and then went off rejoicing to the “Last breakfast.” There was generally an exciting contest between the adherents of the George and White Hart hotels, as to which should provide this entertainment. The former generally had the call; but one year, when some of us had made a particularly good feed at the latter establishment, we got up a little private canvass before the usual time, and to the great disgust of the Præfects, who were all Georgists, we carried the day triumphantly. The expense was defrayed by the boys subscribing the last three “Batlings,” (_i.e._, the weekly shilling allowed each boy.) This was rather an illusory coin, for we seldom actually fingered it, as some one of the College servants generally had a kind of prescriptive right to a benefit; and whenever Saturday arrived, Præfect of Hall’s valet was sure to come round to ask the boys if they would give their batlings to Rat Williams, or Dungy, or Purver, or Long John, or some other equally deserving individual. The last breakfast was a decidedly jolly and a very good repast,—in fact, it was a regular dinner, with tea and coffee instead of wine. Then the inn-yard was full of postchaises and four-wheelers, with a four-horse coach or two drawn up outside; and the exulting Junior slipping a shilling into the expectant hand of the obsequious “Yessah,” stepped proudly into his vehicle, and soon forgot all the troubles of his first half in delightful anticipation of coming festivities. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XV. CONCLUSION. If I could only flatter myself that any of my readers have felt one quarter of the pleasure in reading my little book that I have derived from writing it, I should be more than satisfied. On looking it over, however, I have some misgivings; I fear that those who know not Winchester may think the subject too trivial for illustration, and that Wykehamists may regret that so good a subject has been so indifferently handled. It has surprised me to find how many occurrences, names, words, and faces that for years had lain dormant in my mind, started up again in my memory, as I sauntered through Chambers, School, and Meads; how strange was the sensation to be looked at as a stranger, in a place every stone of which was as familiar to me, nay, I may say more familiar to me, than any other spot in the world. The boys, their names, their dress, their games, their quaint language, (of which I have endeavoured to draw up a glossary,) all seem unchanged; and even I fancied that I myself was once more a Junior, till mechanically snatching at a ball rolling past me, my vertebræ most disagreeably reminded me what o’clock it was.