guineas each. In 1793 it was held on Whit-Tuesday; they then marched round the school-yard, and thence into "stable-yard," where they paraded before the King and Queen, the Prince of Wales, and others of the royal family, and so passed on ad Montem, through the playing - fields. The motto was

Mos pro Lege," and the salt reached £1000. The salt-bearers and runners appeared afterwards on Windsor Terrace, in their fancy costumes, "and were noticed by their Majesties." In 1796, the next occasion, the royal family were again present, and the King and the Prince met the procession, on horseback, at Salt-Hill. The people crowded too much upon the carriage in which the Queen and Princesses were, and the King called out to some of the most forward, and asked whether they were "Etonians"-" he did not remember their faces, and was sure that Etonians were better-behaved." Henry Whitfield was the captain; and Ensign Hatch waved his flag in such "masterly style" (says the 'Gentleman's Magazine'), as to secure "the satisfaction of every person present." In 1817 the poor King was in no condition to attend, but the Queen and the Princesses attended.

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The origin of this peculiar school festival is obscure. The Winchester statutes (which were adopted for Eton in almost every particular) made provision for the out-door exercise of the scholars, by a daily procession ad Montem to St Catherine's Hill, outside the city walls, which is still known as going on hills," and takes place there regularly on half-holidays; and from this there can be little doubt that the term itself was borrowed. Some peculiarities in the Eton festival have led most of the antiquarian authorities to conjecture that it was originally the election of the Boy-bishop by his schoolfellows, enjoined by the statutes on December 6, St Nicholas's-still kept as

Founder's Day. But the "Consuetudinarium" of 1560 speaks of that custom as already obsolete, while it describes the Montem in considerable detail. At that time it had much of the character of an initiation of new boys into the Eton mysteries." The boys go ad montem, in the accustomed fashion, on some day fixed, at the discretion of the master, about the Conversion of St Paul (January 25). The 'hill' is a place sacred in the religion of Etonians, owing to the beauty of the country, the pleasantness of the greensward, the coolness of its shade. They make it the revered seat of Apollo and the Muses. They celebrate it in their verses, call it Tempe,' prefer it to Helicon. Here the novices or freshmen, who have not yet learnt to stand up manfully and vigorously to bear the brunt of the Eton battle, are first seasoned with salt, then are humorously described in verses which have as much salt wit and jest in them as can be contrived. Next they make epigrams on the new boys, each vying with the other in happy turns of expression and facetiousness. Any one may give vent to whatever comes into his head, provided only it be in Latin, have no ungentlemanlike expressions, nor foul or scurrile words. Lastly, they make their cheeks run down with salt tears; and then, when all is over, they are initiated into all the rights and privileges of veterans."-Something of the burlesque military character of the festival appears even in this description; and Captain of Montem" (Knightly Chetwood), is recorded as early as 1670. The constant allusions to salt, in all forms, is curious. It formed, as we know, an important item in the mystic symbols of pagan initiations, as it was also used in the Mosaic sacrifices, and in the purification of newborn children. It has long been used in the German universities— much as it appears from the passage above to have been used at Eton

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How it came to represent money is not quite so clear; it may possibly be the Roman salarium. If Hugget's account is to be trusted, the two Eton salt-bearers used in his time to be dressed in white, and to carry each a bag of real salt, a little of which was offered to each contributor; thus admitting him, it would seem, by this symbol, to the full privileges of an Etonian, for the day at least, when he had duly "paid his footing." Within the present century, each salt-bearer was followed by a man dressed in the conventional white costume, who gave, to every one who had made his offering, no longer a pinch of salt, but one of the tickets already mentioned. The time of year for holding the Montem continued to be winter, until the year 1758, when it was changed by Dr Barnard, then head - master, to Whitsun-Tuesday, as a more convenient and agreeable time of year. Dr Davies, when provost, said he remembered a passage having to be cut from the school-yard to SaltHill, through the snow, for the march of the procession. The date of the change is fixed, beyond doubt, by a copy of Latin verses, written by Benjamin Heath, as captain :

"Jam satis instructas solito pro more cohortes

Turbidus hybernis terruit imber aquis;

Lætior æstivo tempore pompa nitet." From an annual festival it had come to be biennial, and was sometimes even deferred to a third year. From 1778 it was regularly triennial until its final suppression, to

the great regret of most old Etonians, in 1847.

Prince Albert was present at the last celebration, in 1844 his carriage was stopped on Windsor Bridge, and he gave the salt-bearer the royal donation of £100.

It was not without considerable hesitation and regret that Dr Hawtrey decided upon a step which brought upon him at the time some undeserved unpopularity. But the most conservative Etonians who look back calmly on the question now admit that there were good reasons for the suppression. Not to lay much stress upon the fact that the whole thing had become little more than a burlesque, wholly incongruous with the altered habits and character of the times, there were other and more serious objections. The facilities of railway travelling brought down shoals of visitors, who not only swamped the genuine Eton element, but who were too often very objectionable in themselves, and seriously injured the moral discipline of the school. The expenses had also increased very much: vested interests in cheating of all kinds, and encroachments on the natural liberality of the captain, swallowed up the larger proportion of the day's "salt." An attempt was made to check some of these evils on the last celebration, by having the dinner on Fellows' Eyott, within the college precincts, instead of at Salt-Hill; but even this change failed to secure any reasonable amount of privacy. It ought to be known and remembered that Dr Hawtrey, aided by some Eton friends, made a present to the captain-expectant of 1847, of the sum which he had ascertained to be the average of a captain's net receipts.

The senior colleger was never sure of his captaincy until twenty days before Montem. Standing as he did at the head of the roll for

In a window, a few doors from Cambridge House, the following placard some time since invited, apparently without much effect, the notice of the passers-by :-"To let, this desirable family mansion." After a considerable period "the desirable family" seem to have given it up in despair, and vanished from the scene, but the board in the window, beginning " to let " remained, while the "mansion" itself was converted upon it into "unfurnished chambers."

As in the words of that "humble companion," whose life was rendered a burden to her by my poor dear mother, "Money was not so much an object as a comfortable home," I did not hesitate to instal myself in the first floor, which possessed the advantage of a bay-window, with a double sash to keep out the noise, together with an extensive view of Green Park, and a sailor without legs perpetually drawing ships upon the opposite pavement, as a foreground. My friend, Lord Grandon, who is an Irish Peer with a limited income, took the floor above, as I was desirous of securing my self against thumping overhead; moreover, I am extremely fond of him. When I say that the position which I enjoy socially is as well adapted for seeing life as the locality I selected for my residence, most of my more fashionable readers will intuitively discover who I am; fortunately, I have no cause to desire to maintain an incognito which would be impossible, though, per haps, I ought to explain the motives which induce me now to bring myself even more prominently before the public than I have been in the habit of doing. Sitting in my bay-window the other evening, and reading the History of Civilisa

PICCADILLY, February 1865. tion,' by my late lamented friend Mr Buckle, it occurred to me that I also would write a history of civilisation-after having seen the world, instead of before doing so, as was the case with that gifted philosopher. Having for many years past devoted myself to the study of my fellow-men in all countries, I thought the time had come when I could, with profit to myself and the world, give it the benefit of my extended experience and my quick observation. No sooner had I arrived at this determination, than with characteristic promptitude I proceeded to put it into execution; and singular though it may appear, it was not until then that I

found myself quite incompetent to carry out the vast project I had undertaken. The reason was at once apparent - I had seen and thought too much; and was in the position which my predecessor had failed to reach, of experimentally discovering that the task was beyond the human power of accomplishment. Not easily vanquished, I then thought of subdividing it, and dealing exclusively with a single branch of civilisation. Mr Thomas Taylor Meadows, thought I, has written a very elaborate chapter upon the progress of civilisation as regarded from a Chinese point of view, why should not I look upon it from a purely Piccadillean?— so I immediately looked at it. The hour 11 P.M.; a long string of carriages advancing under my windows to Lady Palmerston's; rain pelting; horses with ears pressed back, wincing under the storm; coachmen and footmen presenting the crowns of their hats to it; streams running down their waterproofs, and causing them to glitter in the gaslight; now and then the

flash of a jewel inside the carriages; nothing visible of the occupants but flounces surging up at the windows, as if they were made of some delicious creamy substance, and were going to overflow into the street; policemen in large capes, and, if I may be allowed the expression, helmet-ically sealed from the wet, keeping order; draggled women on foot "moving" rapidly on. The fine ladies in their carriages moving on too, but not quite so fast.

This Piccadillean view of the progress of civilisation suggested to me many serious reflections; among others, that if I intended to go to Cambridge House myself, the sooner I went to dress the better. Which way are we moving? I mused, as I made the smallest of white bows immediately over a pearl stud in my neck. I give up the "history" of civilisation. I certainly can't call it "the progress' of civilisation; that does all very well for Pekin, not for London. Shall I do the Gibbon business, and call it "the decline and fall of civilisation?-and I absently thrust two right-hand gloves into my pocket by mistake, and, scrambling across the wet pavement into my brougham, drove in it the length of the file, and arrived before I had settled this important question.

While Lady Veriphast, having planted me en tête-à-tête in a remote corner, was entertaining me with her accustomed vivacity, I am conscious of having gazed into those large swimming eyes with a vacant stare so utterly at variance with my usual animated expression, that she said at last, rather pettishly, What are you thinking about?" "Civilisation," I said, abruptly. "You mean Conventionalism," she replied; "have you come to the conclusion, as I have, that all conventionalism is vanity?"

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"No; only that it is 'vexation of spirit;' that is the part that belongs to us we leave the 'vanity' to the

women.

"Dear me, I never heard you so

solemn and profound before. Are you in love?"

"No," I said; "I am thinking of writing a book, but I don't see my way to it."

"And the subject is the Conventionalism which you call civilisation. Well, I don't wonder at your looking vacant. You are not quite up to it, Lord Frank. Why don't you write a novel ?"

"My imagination is too vivid, and would run away with me."

"Nothing else would," she said, laughing; "but if you don't like fiction, you can always fall back upon fact; be the hero of your own romance, publish your diary, and call it The Experiences of a Product of the Highest State of Civilisation.' Thus you will be able to write about civilisation and yourself at the same time, which I am sure you will like. I want some tea, please; do you know you are rather dull to-night?" And Lady Veriphast walked me into the middle of the crowd, and abandoned me abruptly for somebody else, with whom she returned to her corner, and I went and had tea by myself.

But Lady Veriphast had put me on the right track; why, I thought as I scrambled back again from my brougham across the wet pavement to my bay-window, should I not begin at once to write about the civilisation of the day? "The Civilisation of the British Isles, as exhibited in Piccadilly, an Episode of Contemporaneous Biography,' that would not be a bad title; here I squared my elbows before a quantity of foolscap, dipped my pen in the ink, dashed off the introduction as above.

Next morning I got up and began again as follows: Why should I commit the ridiculous error of supposing that the incidents of my daily life are not likely to interest the world at large? Whether I read the Diary of Mr Pepys, or of Lady Morgan-whether I wade through the Journal of Mr Evelyn, or pleasantly while away an hour with the memoirs of "a Lady of Quality," I am equally struck with