'That the most popular oppidan of his day should have utterly ignored
the supposed inferiority of the less wealthy section of the school,
and looked on worth and high character as none the worse for being
clothed in a coarse serge gown, is a fact seemingly trivial to
ordinary readers, but very noticeable to Eton men. As a rank and
file collegian myself, and well remembering the Jew and Samaritan
state that prevailed between oppidans and collegers, I remember with
pride that Patteson did so much to level the distinctions that worked
so mischievously to the school. His cheerfulness and goodness were
the surest guarantee for good order amongst his schoolfellows. There
was no Puritanism in him, he was up to any fun, sung his song at a
cricket or foot-ball dinner as joyfully as the youngest of the party;
but if mirth sank into coarseness and ribaldry, that instant
Patteson's conduct was fearless and uncompromising....'

Here follows an account of an incident which occurred at the dinner
annually given by the eleven of cricket and the eight of the boats at
the hotel at Slough.

A custom had arisen among some of the boys of singing offensive songs
on these occasions, and Coley, who, as second of the eleven, stood in
the position of one of the entertainers, gave notice beforehand that
he was not going to tolerate anything of the sort. One of the boys,
however, began to sing something objectionable. Coley called out,
'If that does not stop, I shall leave the room;' and as no notice was
taken, he actually went away with a few other brave lads. He
afterwards found that, as he said, 'fellows who could not understand
such feelings thought him affected;' and he felt himself obliged to
send word to the captain, that unless an apology was made, he should
leave the eleven--no small sacrifice, considering what cricket was to