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Grenfell's father, after a brilliant career at Rugby School and at Balliol College, Oxford, became assistant master at Repton, and later, when he married, head master of Mostyn House School, a position which he resigned in 1882 to become Chaplain of the London Hospital. "He was a man of much learning, with a keen interest in science, a remarkable eloquence, and a fervent evangelistic faith."

I don't know why fellows all come on, as there's no tennis court or anything up here. There's an ice-field up here called a glacier, but it's an awful fraud if you want skating rough as one of Bullford's fields at Rugby. A fellow told me it bears all the year round, but it's got a lot of holes, so we don't think we'll try it.

And he began already to be proud of being a Rugby boy, as he passed the schoolgates, with the oriel window above, and saw the boys standing there, looking as if the town belonged to them, and nodding in a familiar manner to the coachman, as if any one of them would be quite equal to getting on the box, and working the team down street as well as he.

He would have made a grand Association football player, but he preferred to stick to the Rugby style, and was equally successful, at least to his club's satisfaction.

Arnold, of Rugby, regarded the opening of the London and Birmingham line as another great step accomplished in the march of civilisation. “I rejoice to see it,” he said, as he stood on one of the bridges over the railway, and watched the train flashing along under him, and away through the distant hedgerows—“I rejoice to see it, and to think that feudality is gone for ever: it is so great a blessing to think that any one evil is really extinct.”

Then there was another man, an old canon who taught me Latin before I went to Rugby, an old, untidy, dirty man, whose sermons were dull and his manners bad. He was a failure in life and he was a failure to himself; dissatisfied with what he used to call his 'bundle of rotten twigs, his life and habits and thoughts.

Never did a boy enter Rugby with better chances. The memory of my three brothers still lived in the house. Many masters remembered them for good, particularly Jacky, the housemaster, who had loved them all, especially Hugh.

The world had seemed the easiest, the simplest of places, his years at Rugby had been delight. Fully free from shocks of any kind. Good health, friendship, a little learning, these things had made the days pass swiftly. Rupert Craven had been yesterday, a child precisely typical of the system in which he had been drilled; now he was something different.

We were about as ready for war as Lady Conyers there is to play Rugby football for Oxford." "It has taken us the best part of a year to realise what war means," Thomson assented. "Even now there are people whom one meets every day who seem to be living in abstractions." "Last night's raid ought to wake a few of them up," the Admiral grunted.

At that moment the waiter ventured to approach with a silver tray. A telegram, it was indeed a telegram of tears and distance from Mike, given in at Rugby. Even so long parted and so far away, Mike was still true. He had not yet forgotten! These young people were great extravagants of the emotional telegram. They were probably among the earliest to apply electricity for heart-breaking messages.