tive Beetle (in retreat in his lair high among the furze bushes, waiting for the dead cat to begin to twine like a giddy honeysuckle; worshipping The Head, baiting King, and confiding in the Padre) is always and ever Beetle, the inimitable. In the light of what Beetle the Bard has since given us, we can scarcely regret that his giglamps and shortsightedness kept him out of the army.
"Stalky & Co." recently formed the bone of contention in a noted Ladies' Literary Club, and few were the friends it found. One mother objected to the slang, another to the "absence of ideals," a third abjured it altogether, but said that her son reveled in it, and her husband approved. The chief fault of the book lies, perhaps, in the fact that Kipling has portrayed the scrapes of the trio but has given us no account of the long, arid stretches of dig, grind and plodding which must have existed in order that those stiff exams should be passed.
For those blessed with a close understanding of the animal "boy," the slang part has no power to shock. What is it that George Eliot makes Fred Vincy say? "All choice of words is slang. It marks a class. Correct English is the slang of prigs who write history and essays. And the strongest slang of all is the slang of poets."
The second charge, that against the morale of the story, is a more serious one. Is the effect of "Stalky & Co." on the mind of the schoolboy reader, bad? Does it set before him a low moral standard, and is it lacking in ideals? Let us look at the situation fairly. The Three Incomprehensibles, Stalky, Beetle and McTurk, had a creed, to which they adhered with more consistency than we always do to ours. This creed or code of ethics was not angelic, but it was delightfully human. The Head and the Padre treated them openly and trusted them, and in return were to be met always "on the level." The House Master, King and Foxy neither gave nor asked for confidence, and here the wits of the governing and the governed were pitted against each other in open warfare, and the boys looked upon the contest as a fair game, and the other side acquiesced.
And at this we, some of us, cavil. Let us be honest. These boys were being trained for what? For just this sort of thing. As British officers they were to go to "India's sunny clime," and there do what? To outwit the wily strategy of Britain's foes. And by what means? Was the enemy to be brought to terms by a "polite letter- writer" effusion presented on a silver salver, or by meeting wile with wile?
Stalky, the man, proved, we are told, a past grand master in the art of diplomacy. Who were his foils when he studied the rudiments of primeval warfare and learned his trade? Answer, O King and Prout and Foxy!
The finest bit in the book is, perhaps, the Flag Scene. The bare idea of "teaching patriotism" to British boys is sickening. [But schools have patrons and committeemen and trustees, and when these wise ones give advice what can the poor pedagogue do but squirm? The satisfaction of blandly referring these to "a most interesting chapter in 'Stalky & Co.,' dealing with the subject," is great, and for this thanks are due.
There is proof, if proof is needed, that even while Beetle with his confreres was scornfully repudiating "the jelly-bellied flam-flapper" (!) and hia spurious oratory, deep down in the heart of the young imperialist burned thus early the fires of an empire-wide patriotism, vide his poem, "Ave Imperatrix," written from Westward Ho College, on the occasion of the last at- tempt on the life of the great and good Queen, while "Beetle" was yet unknown to fame:
From every quarter of Your land They give God thanks, who turned away Death and the needy madman's hand. Death-fraught which menaced you that day.
One school, of many made to make Men who shall hold it dearest right To battle for their ruler's sake And stake their being in the fight.
Sends greeting humble and sincere, — Though verse be rude and poor and mean, — To You. the greatest as most dear, Victoria, by God's grace Our Queen.
