Here may generally be seen a row of huge leather jugs about two feet high, (“Jacks,”) made of hippopotamus hide, and peculiar to Winchester, I believe; at any rate, a relative of mine who lived in one of the midland counties purchased a pair here every year, and he used to give me the commission, which I had the greatest pleasure in executing, as he always sent me a five-pound note to pay for them with, and could never be induced to take any change.
The Kitchen is a spacious apartment with a vaulted roof, occupying the entire height of the building on the west side of the quadrangle, and at least half its length; here we might see a few Fags endeavouring to coax Jem Sims, John Coward, Bill Bright, or mother Mariner, (the cooks,) for an extra supply of mashed potatoes, till Kitchen is cleared by the exasperated Manciple, who has just detected a delinquent in the act of secreting under his gown an armful of the small faggots used for lighting the kitchen fires, (called “Bill Brighters,”) an opportunity for purloining which was never allowed to slip by a Junior of a properly regulated mind.
It may be asked how the Fags managed to dine at all, and it would be difficult to answer; but somehow or other we did manage to eat at odd times, and plenty too, I suppose; at any rate we were always in excellent condition; there was ample food supplied by College, the opportunity of eating it only failed. The entire system is now completely changed; the boys dine at one o’clock, their dinner is as plentiful as ever, and properly served, with good cookery, plates, and knives and forks, and no Fagging whatever is allowed, the Choristers waiting, and a Master being present.
CHAPTER VII.
THE JUNIOR IN CHAPEL.
The Late Warden—The Antechapel—The Crimean Memorial—The New Tower—Hours of Service—The Oath—Cloisters.
Let us tread more gently as we pass through the gates of the beautiful chapel. Here at any rate our Junior finds some rest and quiet, and is for a period beyond the reach of the weary call of “Junior, Junior.” I feel that it is a subject that cannot worthily be treated of by my trivial pen. The most indifferent stranger cannot enter its sacred precincts without being struck by the air of peaceful solemnity that pervades it throughout; how much more, then, must he be affected who revisits, for the first time after many years, the spot where as a boy he so often listened to the swelling tones of the organ, or eloquent words of wisdom—often, alas! but too little heeded! What crowds of reflections are called forth as he gazes on the scene! How many resolutions have here been formed, and how have they been kept? Can he flatter himself that he is really more advanced on the narrow path than when he sat on those benches years and years ago?