A Labrador Doctor | Page 5

my mother. Father was waiting to get
into the sixth form at Rugby when he was only thirteen years old. He
was a brilliant scholar at Balliol, but had been compelled to give up
study and leave the University temporarily owing to brain trouble. He
never published anything, but would reel off brilliant short poems or
essays for friends at a moment's notice. I used always to remark that in
whatever company he was, he was always deferred to as an authority in
anything approaching classics. He could read and quote Greek and
Latin like English, spoke German and French fluently, while he was an

excellent geologist, and Fellow of the Geographical Society. Here is
quite a pretty little effusion of his written at eight years of age:
O, Glorious Sun, in thy palace of light, To behold thee methinks is a
beautiful sight. O, Glorious Sun, come out of thy cloud, No longer thy
brightness in darkness shroud. Let thy glorious beams like a golden
Flood Pour over the hills and the valleys and wood. See! Mountains of
light around him rise, While he in a golden ocean lies: O, Glorious Sun,
in thy Palace of Light To behold thee methinks is a beautiful sight.
Algernon Sydney Grenfell Aged eight years
Some of my brother's poems and hymns have been published in the
school magazine, or printed privately; but he, too, has only published a
Spanish grammar, a Greek lexicon, and a few articles in the papers.
While at Oxford he ran daily, with some friends, during one "eights
week" a cynical comic paper called "The Rattle," to boost some
theories he held, and which he wished to enforce, and also to "score" a
few of the dons to whom he objected. This would have resulted in his
being asked to retire for a season from the seat of learning at the
request of his enemies, had not our beloved provost routed the special
cause of the whole trouble, who was himself contributing to a London
society paper, by replying that it was not to be wondered at if the
scurrilous rags of London found an echo in Oxford. Moreover, a set of
"The Rattle" was ordered to be bound and placed in the college
archives, where it may still be seen.
My father having a very great deal of responsibility and worry during
the long school terms, as he was not only head master, but owned the
school as well, which he had purchased from his great-uncle, used to
leave almost the day the holidays began and travel abroad with my
mother. This partly accounts for the very unusual latitude allowed to us
boys in coming and going from the house--no one being anxious if now
and again we did not return at night. The school matron was left in
charge of the vast empty barracks, and we had the run of play-field,
gymnasium, and everything else we wanted. To outwit the matron was
always considered fair play by us boys, and on many occasions we
were more than successful.

One time, when we had been acquiring some new lines of thought from
some trashy boys' books of the period, we became fired with the desire
to enjoy the ruling passion of the professional burglar. Though never
kept short of anything, we decided that one night we would raid the
large school storeroom while the matron slept. As always, the planning
was entrusted to my brother. It was, of course, a perfectly easy affair,
but we played the whole game "according to Cavendish." We let
ourselves out of the window at midnight, glued brown paper to the
window panes, cut out the putty, forced the catch, and stole sugar,
currants, biscuits, and I am ashamed to say port wine--which we mulled
in a tin can over the renovated fire in the matron's own sanctum. In the
morning the remainder was turned over to fishermen friends who were
passing along shore on their way to catch the early tide.
I had no share in two other of my brother's famous escapades, though at
the time it was a source of keen regret, for we were sent to different
public schools, as being, I suppose, incompatible. But we heard with
pride how he had extracted phosphorus from the chemical laboratory
and while drawing luminous ghosts on the wall for the benefit of the
timorous, had set fire to the large dormitory and the boys' underclothing
neatly laid out on the beds, besides burning himself badly. Later he
pleaded guilty to beeswaxing the seat of the boys in front of him in
chapel, much to the detriment of their trousers and the destruction of
the dignity of Sunday worship.
During the time that my parents were away we never found a moment
in