the sort of over-forbearance their Professor showed. I feel sure now that
a more truculent character than his would have enforced order better, with
advantage to the weak and wavering pupils. He treated boys too much like
human creatures--and some of us were as mischievous as monkeys. I
recollect a particular instance illustrating this fact and his
forbearance.

"The weather was bad, and bad colds abounded. One day Newman ventured to
remonstrate gently with the victims of catarrh--indeed, the noise was
awful. But he had the indiscretion to add: 'Gentlemen, if you cannot wipe
your noses, I must really ask you to blow them outside the door.' Of
course the results were awful! The young imps rushed out incessantly into
the passage, and made noises like motor-cars. If the Professor committed
an error of judgment in his first edict, he certainly made up for it by
the way he kept his temper. In this he was really perfect. But the boys
presumed on it, of course. I remember that one of them, instead of
attending to his _Juvenal_, wrote a long poem about this nose incident,
which passed from hand to hand.

"There was another incident about that time which I fancy others may
remember better than I. It was snow time, and the schoolboys in the
playground were pelting papers in the college precinct. Newman passed by,
and a heavy volley all but destroyed his umbrella, which he used as a
shield. A few days after he came into the Common Room with a new umbrella.
'See what a beautiful present I've had,' he said, 'from my young friends
across the railings.' I have an impression that it was a guinea umbrella
bought with penny subscriptions; but this may be another story that has
got mixed with it."

Sir Edward Fry writes, in response to a request from me for his