As long as salt and sock abound.
The “famous hill” alluded to in these verses now presents a most melancholy appearance, its summit being vulgarised by a châlet of miserable design, whilst, as has been said, the glory of the Inns close by has long departed. For some time after Montem days, however, the Windmill (Botham’s) seems to have been an occasional resort of Etonians, for an interesting oak table (saved from the fire), which is now in the possession of the popular Master—Mr. Edward Littleton Vaughan—has carved upon it the names of some seventy well-known Etonians, besides initials, and dates, mostly ranging from 1845 to 1857. It would therefore seem that, contrary to tradition, the names were not carved after Montem, but are rather those of boys who frequented Botham’s, as their predecessors had frequented the old Christopher.
VI
THE COLLEGE BUILDINGS
In the course of the various changes which Eton has undergone, the old Quadrangle (till 1706 not paved but grass), which in old Montem days was gay with a riot of high-spirited youth, has, on the whole, escaped disfiguring alteration. The original intention of the founder was to have a cloister in the Quadrangle; and a line of lead running beneath the windows, together with some foundations discovered in 1876, lead one to suppose that such a scheme was actually begun. On the whole, the general aspect of the school-yard, which enthusiastic Etonians regard as a sort of “rose-red city half as old as time,” remains unaltered. New, however, are the pinnacles of the Chapel and the Gothic window of the Hall.
Within the last hundred years almost the only drastic changes have been those in its exterior, the western end of which was remodelled at the restoration of 1858, and the construction of a bow window for the master residing in College, whose rooms are on the left-hand side of the Quadrangle, at the end of what was formerly the ancient Long Chamber. Otherwise there is small evidence of change. The brickwork retains its old mellowed colouring, and the founder’s statue remains as grimy as ever, though perhaps a trifle less black than in the days when its sable hue convinced the small child of one of the College officials that Henry VI. had been a black man. The infant in question, as a loyal son of Eton, had been taught to salute this statue (which, according to old custom, should always be passed on the right-hand side) whenever he went through the school-yard. Out for an airing with its nurse in Windsor one day, the child, perceiving a private of one of the West India Regiments, became convinced that it was Henry VI. in the flesh. Solemnly rising in its perambulator and reverently exclaiming “Founder,” the astounded soldier was accorded a salute which filled him with amazement.
The feature of the Quadrangle, of course, is the fine tower of Provost Lupton, under which at Election time, up to 1871, the Provost of Eton was wont to greet the Provost of King’s with a kiss of peace, and the Captain of the school to deliver his Latin Cloister Speech. The gates here are closed on the death of a Provost, and not opened till his successor is appointed. Carved above the window of Election Chamber, over the gateway, is a representation of the Assumption of the Virgin, to which in pre-Reformation days Collegers reverently raised their hats.
THE GREEN YARD
Passing through this arch one reaches the cloisters, about which linger so many old-world memories. Once known as the “tower cloister,” this appellation seems in the eighteenth century to have been discarded for that of “the Green Yard.” The railings here, of Sussex iron, were put up in 1724-25.