Five Cent Wide Awake Library (vol. 1) (1878 09 07)
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} Ny Hie EK S ‘S \° Entered according to Act of Congress, pee were fo Vol, L SING LE \ NUMBER. #n the year 1879, by FRAN: = FRANK TOUSEY, PUBLISHER, 180 Wituiam Srreer, N, Y. K' TOUSEY, én the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D, ©, Lae ° { PRICE } & CENTS. TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. BY THOMAS HUGHES, CHAPTER I. THE BROWN FAMILY. The Browns have become illustrious by the peu of Thackeray and the pencil of Doyle, within the Hi Wy memory of the young gentlemen who are now wnatriculating at the Universities. Notwi:hstand- ing the well-merited but iate fame which has now fallen upon them, any one at all acquainted with the family must feel that much has yet to be written and said before the British nation will be properly sensible of how much of its greatness it Owes to the Browns, For centuries, in their quiet, degged, home-spun way. they have been subduing their mark in American forests and Australian uplands. Whorever the fleets and armies of Eng- land have won renown, there stalwart sons of the Browns have done yeoman’s work. With the yew bow and cloth-yard shaft at Cressy and Agincourt —with the brown bill and pike under the braye Lord Willouzhby—with culyerin’ and demi-cul- yerin against Spaniards and Dutchmen—with hand-grenade and sabre, and musket and bayv- net, uuder Rodney and St. Vincent, Wolfe and Moore, Nelson and Wellington, they have carried their lives in their hands; getting bard knocks Flashman’s Defeat by Tom and East. and hard work in plenty. which was on the whole what they looked for, and the best thing fer them; and little praise or pudding, which indeed they, and most of us, are better without. Talbots and Stanleys, St. Maurs, and such-like folk have led armies and made laws time out of mind; bat these noble families would be somewhat as- tonnded—if the accounts ever came to be fairly taken—to find how small their work for England the earth in most English counties, and leaving } has been by the side of that of the Browns. These latter, indeed, have until the present generation rarely been sung by poct, or chronicled by sage. They have wanted their “sacer vates,” aving been too solid to rise to the top by them- selves, and not having been largely, gifted with the talent of catching hold of, and holding on tight to—whatevyer good things happened to be gcoing—the foundation of the fortunes of so many noble families. Bot the world goes on its Way,and the wheel turns, aud the wrongs ot the Browus, like other wrongs, seem in a fair way to get riguted. And this present writer, having for 3 BHR ia of his life been a Cevout Brown and mipreoyer Having the aeaor ot being nearly connected with an eminently ro apeceaie branch of the great Brown family, is anxious, so faras in him lies, to help the whets many years worshipper, ver, and throw his stone on to the pile. Va owever, gentle reader, or simple reader, which- ever you may be, lest you should be led to waste. your precious time upon these pages, IT make so bold as at once to tell you the sort of folk you'¥
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2 _ TOM BROWN'S SOHOOL DAYS. y._ oe OOo eee have to meet and put up with, if you and I are’ to jog on comfortably together, You shall hear at once what sort of folk the Browns are, at least my branch of them; and then if you don’t like the sort, why cus the concern at once, and let you and Lery quits before either of us can grumble at the other. In the first place, the Browns are a fighting family. One may question their wisdom, or wit, or beauty, but about their fight there can be no question. Wherever hard knocks of any kind, yisible or imvisible, are going, there the Brown who is nearest must shove in his carcass, And these carcasses for the most part answer very well to the characteristic propensity; they are a square-headed and snake-necked generation, broadin the shoulder, deep in the chest, and thinin the flank, carrying no lumber. Then for clanship, they are as bad as Highlanders; it is ainazing the belief they Nave in one another. With them there is nothing like the Browns, to the third and fourth generation. “Blood is thicker than water,” is ove of their pet sayings. They can’t be happy unless they are always meeting one another, Never were such people for family gatherings, which, were you a stranger, or sensitive, you wight think had better not have been gathered together. For durivg the whole time of their being together they luxuriate in telling one another their minds on whatever subject turns up; and their minds are wonderfully antagonistic, and all their opinions are downright belieis, Till you’ve been among them some time and understand them, you can't think but that they are quarrel- ing. Not abit of it; they love and respect one another ten times the more after a good set tamily arguing bout, and go back, one to his curacy, another to his chambers, and another to bis regiment, freshened for work, and more than ever convinced that the Browns are the height of company. x _fnis family training, too, combined with their turn for eombativeness, makes them eminently quixotic. They can’t let anything alone which they think going wrong. They must speak their mind aboutit, anndying all easy-going folk; and spend their time and money in having a tinker atit, however hopeless the job. It is an impossi- bility tov a Brown to leave the most disreputable lume dog on the other side of a stile. Most other folk get tired of sueh work. The old Browns, with red faces, white whiskers, and bald heads, goon believing and fighting toa green old age. They have always a crotchet going, till the old wan with theseythe reaps and garners thom away | for tronblesome old boys as they are, . And the most provokirg thing is, that no fail- ures knock them up, or make them hold their Shands, or think you or me, or other sane people in the right. Failures slide off them like July rain off a duck’s back-feathers, Jem and his whole family turn out bad, and cheatthem one week, and tho nextthey are doing the same thing for Jick; and when be goes to the treadmill, and his wife and children to the workhouse, they will be on tho look-out for Bill to take bis place, - However, itis time for us to get from the gene- ral to tho particular; so, leaving the great army ot Browns, who are scattered eyer the whole em- pire on whieh the sun never sets, and whose gen- eral diffusion I take to be the chief cause of that ‘eupire’s stability, let us at once fix our atvention Upoa the small nest of Bzowns in which our hero was hatched, and which dweltiu that portion of the Roval county of Berks which is called the Vale of White Horse. Most ot you have probably travelled down the Great Western Railway as far as Swindon. Those ot you who did so with their eyes open haye been aware, svon after leaving the Didcot station, of a fine rang6 of chalk hills running paralle] withthe railway on the left-hand side ay you go down, and distant some two or three miles, more or less, froin the line. The highest point in the range is the White Horse Hill, which you come in front of just before you stop at the Shrivenham Station. ft you love English scenery and haye a few hours to dpare, you can’t do better, the next time you pass, than stop at the Farringdon-road, or Shriy- enham station, and make your way to that high- est point. And thuse who care for the vague old stories that haunt country sides allabout Eng- land, will not, it they are wise, be content with only a few hours’ stay; for, glorious as the view is, the neighborhood is yet more interesting for its relics of by-gone times. Tonly know two Eug- lish neighborhoods thoroughly, and in each, with- ina circle of five miles, there is enough of inter- est and beauty to last any reasonable man his life. I believe this tobe the case almost throughout ihe country, but each hasaspecial attraction, and none can be richer than the one I am speaking of uni going to introduce you to very particularly ; ior OX this subject I must he prosy; so those that en care for England in detail may skip the clupter, O young England! young England! You who are Dern into these raving railroad times, when tuere’s a Great Exhibition, or some monster sight, every year, and you can get over a couple of thou- sand mulek of ground for three pound ten, In a dive weeks’ holiday, why don’t you know more of your own birth-places? You're aliin the ends of tho earth, 16 seems to Me, as soon as you get your necks out of the educational collarfor midsum- mer Lolidays, long vacations, or what not. Going reund Ireland, with areturn-ticket, ina fortnight ; droppiug your copies of Tennyson on the = / | Swiss mountains; or pulling down the Danube in| | Oxford racing-boats. And when.you get homefor | a quietfortnight, you turn the steam off, and lie on your backs in the paternal garden, surrounded b the last batch of books from Mudie’s library, an half bored to death. Well, well! I know-it has its good side. Youall patter French mors orless and perhaps German; you have seen men an Cities, no doubt, and have your opinions, such as they are, about. schools of painting, high art, and allthat; have seen the pictures at Dresden and the Louyre, and know the taste of sour-krout. All I say is, you don’t know your own lanes and woods and fields. Though you may be chock-full of science, not one in twenty of you knows where to find the wood-sorrel, or bee-orchis, which grow | in the next wood, or on the down three miles off, | or what the bog-bean and wood-sage are good for. And as for the country legends, thestories of the old gable-ended farm-houses, the place where the) last skirmish was fought in the civil wars, whero the parish butts stood, where the last highway- man turned to bay; where the last ghost was sale by the parson, they’re gone out of date alto- gether, Now, in my time, when we got homo by the old coach, which put us down ao the cross-roads with our boxes, the first day of the holidays, and had been driven off by the family coachman, singing “‘Dulee Domumn” at the top of our voices, there we were, fixtures, till black Monday came round, We had to cut out our own amusements within a walk or a ride of home. And so we got to know all the country folk,and their ways and songs and stories, by heart; and went over the fields and woods and hills again and again, till we made friendsofthem all. We were Berkshire, or Glouces- tershire, or Yorkshire boys: and you’re young cosmopolites, belonging to all counties and no countries. No doubtit’s allright; I daresay ibis. This is the day of large views and glorious ha- manity,and all that; but I wish backsword play hadn’t gone out in the Vale of White Horse, and that that confounded Great Western hadn’t car- ried away Alfred’s Hill tou make an embankment, But to return to the said Vale of White Horse, the country in which the first scenes of this true andinteresting story are Jaid. As I said, the Great Western now runs right through it, and itisa land of large rich pastures, bounded by ox-fences, and coveréd with fiue hedgerow timber, with here and there a nice little gorse or splnney, Where abideth poor Charley, Having no other cover to whieh to betake himseit for miles and miles, when pushed out some fine November morning by the Old Berkshire. ‘Chose who have been there, and well mounted, only know how he and thostanch little pack who dash after him—heads high and sterns low, with a breast-high scent—cau consume ithe ground at such times, There being lotle plough-land, and tew woods, the Vale is only an average sporting country, except tor hunting. The villages are straggling, queer, old-fashioned places, the houses beiug dropped down without the least regularity, in nooks and out-of-the-way corners, by the sides of shadowy lanes and toot- pane each with its patch of garden. They are uilf chiefly of good gray-stone and thatched; though I see that within the last year or two the} red brick cottages are multiplying, for the Vale is beginning to manufacture largely both bricks and | tiles. There are lots of waste ground by the side of the roads inevery village, amounting often to yillage greens, where teed the pigs and ganders of the people; and these rouds are old-fash- ioned, homely roads, very dirty and badly made, and hardly endurable in winter, but still pleasant jog-trot roads, running through the great pasture- thorns, where the sleek kine are feeding, wita no} fence on either side of them, anda gate at the end of each field, which makes you get outof your gig (if you Keep one), and gives you a chance of looking about you every quarter of a mile. One of the moralists whom we sat under in our pour ee it the great Richard Swiveller, or Mr. tiggins?—says, ‘ We are born ina vale, and must take the consequences of being found in sucha situation.” These consequences, I for one am ready toencounter. I pity people who wern’t born ina vale. I don’t mean a flat country, but a vale; that is, a flat country bounded by hills, The having your hill aways in view if you choose to turn towards him, that’s the essence of a vale. There he is forever in the distance, your friend and companion; you never lose him as you doin hilly districts. And then what a hillis the White Horse Hull! There it stands right up above all the rest, nine} hundred feet above the sea, and tke boldest, bravest shape for a Chalk hill youeyersaw. Let us go up to the top of him, and see whatis to be found there. Ay, you may well wonder, and think itodd you never heard of this before; but, won- der or not,as you please,-there are hundreds of such things lying about England, which wiser \folk than you know nothing of, and care vothing for. Yes, it’s a magnificent Romau camp, aud no | mistake, with gates, and ditch, and mounds, all as ;complete a3 it was twenty years after the strong jold rogues left it. Here, right up on the highest point, from which they say you can see eleven counties, they trenched round all the table-land, {some twelve or fourteen acres, as was their cus- lands, dotted here and there with little clumps of} tom, for they could’nt bear anybody to overlook |them, and made their eyrie. The ground falls! laway rapidly on all sides. Was there ever sucb} ankles at every step, ahq-yet te spring of it is. delicious. There is always « preezo in the “camp,” as it is called, and here it lies, justas the Romans left it,except that cairn ontne east side, lett by Her Majesty’s corps of Sappers~and Miners toe other day, when they and tho Emgineer offiver bad finished their sojourn tere, anv{ their sur- veys for the Ordnance Map of Berksine. Lt is altogether a place that you won’t forget—& placo to open a man’s soul and make him prophe he looks down on that great Vulo spread ouas the garden of the Lord before him, and wave Q wave of the mysterious downs behind; ani ts the right and left the chalk‘hills running away into the distance, along which he ean trace for miles tbe old Roman road, “the Ridgeway ” (**tho Rudge,” as the country folk call it) keeping straight along the highest back of the hills; such a place as Balak brought Balaam to, and told him to prophesy against the people in the valley be- neath. And he couid not, neither shall you,for they are a people of the Lord who abide there. And now we leave the camp, and descend to- wards the west,and are on the Ash-down. We are treading on heroes. I6 is sacred ground for pn giisnraeny more sacred than all but ono or two fields where their bones lie whitening, For this is the actual place where our Alfred won his great battle, the battle of Ashdown (‘‘Aiscendum” in the chroniclers), which broke the Danish power, and made England a Christian land. Tho Danes held the camp and the slope where we are stand- ing—the whole crown of the hill, fact. ‘The heathen had beforehand seized the higher ground,” as old Asser says, having wasted every thing behind them from London, and being just ready to burst down on the fair vale, Alfred’s own birth-place and heritage. And up the heights came the Saxons, as they did at the Alma, “Tuo Cbristians led up their lino from tho lower ground. There stood also on that spota siugio thorn-tree, marvellous stumpy (which wo _our- selves wilh our very owncyes have seen).” Bless the oid chronicler! does he think nubody ever saw the single “ thorn-tree ” but himseli? Why, there itstands to this very day, juston the edye of the slope, and I sawit not three weeks since; an old single thorn-tree, “ marvellous stumpy.” Ab least, if it isn’t tuo same tree, it ougit to have beon, tor iv’s just.in the same place where the battle must have been won or lost—‘ around which, as I was saying, the two lines of foemen camo togsther in batule with a huge shout. Andin this place ons of the two Kingsof the heathen and five of his earls fell down and died, and many thousands of, the heathen side in the same place.’ After which crowning mercy, the pious King, that thore migut never be wanting a sign and a memorial to the country-side, carved out on the northern sido of the chalk hill, under the cump, whero it is al- most precipitous, the great Saxon white horse, which he wuo will may see from the railway, and which gives its namo to the vale, over which it has looked these thousand years anid more. Right down below the White Horse is a curious deep und broad gully called the Manger,” into oue side of which the bilisfall with a series of tha most lovely sweeping curves, known as the *' Gi- ant’s Stairs;’”? they are not a bit like stairs, but I never saw any thing like them anywhere else, with their short green turf, and tender blue-beils, and gossamer and thistle-down gleaming in the sun, and the sheep-paths running along their sides like ruled lines, : The other side of the Manger is formed by ;the Dragon’s Hill, a curious little round self-contidene fellow, thrown forward from the range, und ut- terly unlike those round him. On this hill some deliverer of mankind—St. George, the country folk used to tell me—killed.a dragon. Whether iv were St. George, I can not say; but surely a dragon was killed there, for you may see the marks yet where his blood rau down, and moro by token the place where lt ran down is the easiest way up tho hill-side. Passing along the Ridgeway to the west for about a mile, we come fo a litule See of young beech and firs, with a growth of ta0tn and privet underwood. Here you may find nests of the strong down partridge and pee wit, but take care that the keeper isn’t down upon you; andin the middie of itisan old cromlech, a huge flat stone raised on seven or eight others, and led up toby a path, with large singlo stones set up on each sid.» This is Waylaud Smith’s eave, a place ot classi¢ fame now; but as Sir Walter has touched it, f may as well letit alone, aud refer you to Kenil- worth for the legend. -, The thick deep wood which you see in the hol- low, about a mile off, surrounds Ashdown Park, built by Inigo Jones, Four broad alleys are cut through the wood, from circumference to centre, and each leads to one face of the house. The mystery of the downs hangs about house and wood, as they stand there ulone, so unlike all around, with the green slopes, studded with greal stones just about this part, stretching away ou ull sides. It was a wise Lord Craven, I think, who pitched his ten there. Passing along the Ridgeway to tho east, we soon come to-cultivated land, The downs, strict- ly so Called, are no more; Lincelnshire farmerg have been imported, and the long fresh slopes are sheep-walks no more, but grow famous turnipsand barley. One of these improvers lives over there, at the “Seven Barrows’’ farm, another mystery of the great dewns. There are tie barrows sili ps of ‘turf in the whole world? You sink up to your’ solemn and silent, like ships in the calm sea, tl? = °
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TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. 8 f#epulchres of some sons of men. Buf of whom? It is three miles from the White Horse, oo far for the slain of Ashdown to be buried there—who shall say what heroes are waiting there? But we must get down into the Vale again, and 50 away by the Great Western Railway to town, for time and the printer’s devil press, aud itisa terri- Nple long anil slippery descent, and a shocking bad road. At the bottom, however, there 1s @ pleas- ant public, whereat we must really take a modest quencher, for the down airis provocative of thirst, © we pull up under an old oak which stands be- tore the door. i “What is the name of your hill, landlord 37” “Blawing Stwun Hill, sir, to be sure.” [ReAper. ‘ Sturm?” : AurHor. ‘“ Stone, Stupid: the Blowing Stone.”’] “Aud of your house? I can’t make out the sign.” “Bilawing Stwun, sir,” says the landlord, pouring out bis old ale from a Toby Philpot iug, with a melodious crash, into the long-necked glass. 5 “ What queer names!” say we, sighing at the end of ‘our draught, and holding out the glass to be replenished. “ Bean’t queer at all, as I can see, sir,’ says mine host, handing back our glass, ‘‘seeing as this here 1s the Blawing Stwun his self ;” putling kis hand on @ square lump of stove, some three feef and a balf high, perforated with two or three queer holes, like petrified antediluvian rat-holes, which lies there close under the oak, under our vemy nose. We are more than ever puzzled, and ani our sevond glass of ale, wondering what wilf come next. ike fo hear un, sir %” says mine host, setting down Toby Philpot on the tray, and resting both hands on the “Stwun.” We are ready for anything; and he, without Waiting for a reply, applies bis mouth to ono of the vat holes. Something must coms of ir, if he doesn’t burst. Good heavens! I hope ne has no apoplestio tendencies. Yes, here it comes, sure enough, @ grewsome sound between a moan and # rour, and spreads itself uway over the valley, and up the hill-side, and into the woods ut the back of the house, a ghost-like awfui voice. “Um do say, sir,” says mine host, rising purple-faced while the moan is stillcoming outof the Sswun, *‘as they used iu old times to warn the country- , side, by blawing the Siwun when the euemy was # cowin’—and as how folks could make un heerd then for seven mile round; leastways, so I’ve , heerd lawyer Smith say, and he knows asmart /aight about them old times.” We ean hardly swallow lawyer Smith’s seven miles, but could the blowing of the stone havo been a summons, a sort of sending the fiery cross round the neighbor- hood in the old times? What old times? Who kuows? We pay for our beer, and are thankful. ~ “And what’s thename of the village just below, lanatord 9” : . ‘ Kingstone Lisle, sir.” “Pine plantations you've got here.” “Yes, sir, the Squire’s mazin fond of trees and such like.” “Nowonder. Ho's got some real beauties to be + fond of. -Good-day, landlord.” “*Good-day, sir, and a pleasant rido to ’e.” And now, my boys, you whom I want to get for readers, have you had enough? Will you give in at once, and.say‘you’re convinced, and Jeb me _ begin my-story, or will you have more of it? Re- mewhber, I’ve only been over a little bit of the hillside yet, what you could ride round easily on your ponies inan hour. I'm only just come down into the vale, by Blowing Stone Hill; and if I 0} begin about the vale, what's to stop mo? wil haye to hear all about Wantage, the birthplace of Alfred and Farringdon, waieh held ougso long for Charles the First (‘ho valo was n Oxford and dreadfully malignant; full of Throgmortons, Puseys, and Pyoes, and such like, and their brawny retainers). .Did you ever read Thomas Ingoldsby’s “ Leg of . Hamilton Pighe?’ If you haven’t, you ought to have. Well, Farringdon is where he lived before be went to sea; his real name was Hamden Pye, and the Pyoes were the gréut folk at Farringdon, “Then there’s Pusey. You’ve heard of the Pusey horn which King Canute gave to the Puseys of that day, and which the galiant old squire, lately gone to his rest (whom Berkshiro rreeholders turned outof last Parliament, to their eternal disgrace, for voting according to his conscience), used to bring out on high days, holidays and bou fire nights. at Uffington, the Uffingas town; how the whole eountry-side teems with Saxon Hames and mem- ories! And the old moated grange at Compton, nestled close under the hillside, where twenty Marianas may have lived, with its bright water- lilies in the moat, aud its yew walk, “the cloister wali,” and its peerless terraced gardens. There they all are, and twenty things besides, for tuose who care ubout them and have oyes. And these aro the sort of things you may find, I believe, every one of you,in any common English coun- {ry neighborhood, 4 I you leok for them under your own noses, oor will you not? Well, well, I’ve done what I can eto make you, and if you will go gadding over : half Europe now every holidays, can’t helpit. —£ was born and bred a west-countryman, thank as & Wessex man, a citizen of the noblest Saxon kingdom of Wessex, a regular “Angular Saxon,’ the very soul of mo “adscriptus glebee.” ere’s nothing like the old country-side fox me, “c - i and no music like the twang of the r‘al old Sax- on tongue, as one gets it fresa from tho veritable chaw in the White Horse Vale. : Here at any rate lived and stopped at home Squire Brown, J. P. for the county of Berks, ina village near the foot of White Horse range. And here he dealt out justice and merey in a rough way, and begatsons ant daughters, and hunted the fox, and grumbled at the badness of the roads and the times. And his wife dealt out stockings, and calico shirts, and smock frocks, and comforting drinks to the old folk with the | they like to go. So having succeeded in contra- dicting myself in my first chapter (which gives me great hopes that you will all go on, and think mea good fellow, notwithstanding my eretebets), I shail here shut up for the present and consider my Ways; having resolved to “‘sar’ if outr,”’.s we say In the Vale, “iolus bolus,” just as it comes, and ‘hen you'll probably get the trath out of me, CHAPTER 1. “ THE VEAST.’’ “rheumatiz,” and good counsel to all; and Kept | the coal and clothes-clubs going, for Yule-tide, when the bands of mummers came round dressed out in ribbons and colored paper caps, and stamped round the Squire’s kitchen, repeating in true sing-song vernacular, the legend of St, George and his fight, and the ten-pound Doctor who plays his part at healing the Saint—a relie, I And the splendid old Cross church: believe, of the old middle-age mysteries. It was the first dramatic representation which greeted the eves of little Tom, who was brought down into the kitchen by his nurse to witnessit, at the mature age of three years. Tom was the eldest child of his parents, anil from his earliest haby- hood exhibited the family characteristics in great strength. Ho wasa hearty strong boy from the first, given to fighting with ani escaping from his nurse, and fraternizing with all the village boys, with whom he made expeditions all round the neighborhood. And here in the quiet, old- fashioned country village, under the shadow of the everlasting hills, Tom Brown was reared, and never left it till he went first to school when nearly eight years of age, for‘in those days change of air twice a year was not thought abso- lutely necessary for the health of all her Majes- ty’s lieges. [have been credibly informed, and am inclined to believe, that the various Boards of Directors of Railway Companies, those gigantic jobbers and bribers, while quarreling about evers thing else, agreed together sume ten years back to buy up the learned profession of medicine, body and soul. To this end they set apart several millions of money, which they continually distribute ju- diciously among the doctors, stipulating only tis one thing, that they shall prescribe change of air to every patient who can pay, or borrow money. to pay, a railway fare, and seo their preo- scription carried out. If it be not for this, why is 16 that none of us can be wellat home for a year together? It wasn’t so twenty years ago—not a bit ot it. The Browns didn’t go oub ft the county once in five years. A visit to Reading or Abing- don twice a year, at Assizes or Quarter Sessions, which the Squire made on his horse, with a puir ot saddle-bags containing his wardrobe—a stay of a day or two at some country neighbor’s—or an expedition to a county ball or the yeomaury review—madoe up the sum ot tho Brown locomo- tion in most years. A stray Brown from some distant county droppedin every now and then; or froin Oxford, on graye nag, an old don, con- temporary of the Squice; and were looked upon by the Brown houseaold and the villagers with the same sortof teeling with which we now re- gard a man who has crossed the Rocky Mouh- tuins or launched a boat on the great lake in Central Africa. The White Horse Vale, remem- ber, was traversed by no greatroad; nothing but country parish roads and these very bad. Only one coach ran there, and this one ouly from Wantage to London, so that the western part of the vale was without regular meaus of moving ov, and certainly didn’t seem to want them. There was the canal, by the way, which supplied the eountry-side with coal, and up anc down which continually went the long barges, with the big black men lounging by the’ side of the horses along the towing-path, and the women in bright colored handkerchiefs standing in the sterns, steering. Standing I say, but you could never see Whether they were standing or sitting, all but ther heads and shoulders being out of sight in the cosy little cabins which occupied some eight feet of the stern, and which Tom Brown pictured to himself as the most desirable of resi- dences. His nurse told him that those good- hatured-looking women were in the constant habit of enticing children into the barges and taking them up to London ana selling them, which Tom wouldn’t believe, and which made him resolve, as soon as Bi palitaal Lo accept the oft- proffered invitation of these syrens 10 “young Master,” to come in and havo a ride. ile nurse was boo much for Tom. Yet why should £ after all abuse the gadabout ssopensities of My Countrymen? We are a vag- apund nation Dow, that’s certain, for better for worse. LT am a vagabond: I have been away from home no less, than five distinct timesin the last year. The Queen sets us the exanriple— we are moving on from topto bottom. Little dirty Jack who abides in Clement’s Inn gateway, and blacks my boots for a penny, takes his month’s hop-picking every year, aya matter of course. Whyshouldn’the? I’m delighted atin, I love vagabonds, only I prefer poor to rich ones,— couriers and ladies’ maids, imperials and trayel- ling earriages, are an abomination unto me—f ean- notaway withthem. Butfor dirty Jack and every good fellow who moves about with chattels and house ou bis back, why, good luck to them, and many a merry road side adventure, and steaming But as yet supper In the chimney corners of road-side inns, Swiss chalets, Hottentot kraals, or whereyer else ~@ -bat yenerablo and loarned poet (whose voluminous works wo all think it the correct thing to admire and talk about, but don’f read often) most traly says, “lhe child is father to the man;”.@ fortiori, therefore he must bo father ro the boy. So as wo are going atany rate to sea Tom Srown through his boyhood, supposing we never get any farther, which, if you show a pr - per sense of the value of this history, there is no knowing but what wo may), let us have a look at tho life and environments of the child, in the quis country village to which we were iniro- uced in the last chapter. Tom, as has been already said, was a robust and combative urchin, and at the age of four began to struggle against the yoke and authority of his nurse. That functionary was a good-hoarted, tearful, scutter-brained girl, lately taken by Ton’s mother, Madam Brown, as she was called, from the village school to be trained as nursery-maid. Madam Brown was a rare trainer of servants, and spent herself freely in the profession; for profession it was, and gave her more trouble by half than many people take to earn a good income. Her servants were known and sought after for miles round, Almost all the girls who attained a certain place in tho village) school were taken by her, one ortwo ata time, as house-maids, laundry- maids, nursery-muids, or kitchen-maids, ind, after ayear or two’s drilling, were started in lite amongst the neighboring families, with good principles and wardrobes. Onoof the results of this system was the perpetual despair of Mrs. Brown's cook and own maid, who no sooner had a notable girl made to their hands, than Missus way sure to find a good place for her and send her off, taking in fresh importation; from the school. Another was, that the hvouse was always full of young girls with clean, shining faces; who broke plates and scorched linen, but’ made an atmos- phere of cheerful homely life about the place, govt for every one that came within its influence. Mrs. Brown loved young people, and in fact human creatures in general, above plates and lineu. They were more like a lot of elder chil- dren than servants, and telt to her more as a mo- ther or aunt than as a mistress. Tom’s nurse was one who took in her instrue- tion very slowly—she seemed to have two lets hands and no head; and so Mrs. Brown kept her on longer than usual, that she might expend her awkwardness and forgetfulness upon those whe ould not judge and punish her too strictly tor them, Charity Lamb was her name. It had been the immemorial habit of the vilago to christen ehil- dren either by Bible names, or by those of tho cardinal and other virtues; so that one was for- ever hearing in tho village street, or ou the green, shrill sounds of ‘‘Prudenco! Prudence! thee cum’ out o' the gutter;’’ or, “ Mercy ! drat tha girl, what bist thee a doin’ wi’ littie Faith?” and there were Ruths, Rachels, Keziahs, ia every corner. The same with the boys; there were Benjamins, Jacobs, Noahs, Enochs. [suppose the custom has Come down from Puritan times—there itis, at any rate, very stroug still in the Vale. ; Well, from early morning till dewy eve, when she hadit out of him in the ¢old tub before put- ting him to bed, Cnarity and Tom were pitted against one another. Piysical power was as yet on the side of Charity, but sho hadn't a cuance with him wherever head-work was wanted. Thie war of independence began every morning )etors breakfast, when Charity escorted her charge toa neighboring farm-house which supplied the Brown’s, and where, by his mother’s wish, Master Tom went to drink whey before breakfast. Tom had nosortot objection to whey, but he had a de- cided liking for curds, which were forbidden ag unwholesome, and there was seldom & morning that he did not manage to secure a handful of hard curds, in defiance of Charity and the far- ‘mer’s wite. Tho latter good soul wasa gaunt angu- lar woman, who, with an old black bonnet on the top of her head, tho strings dangling about her shoulders, and her gown tucked away through her pocket-holes, went clattering about the dairy, eheese-room, aud yard, in high pattens. Charity was some sort of niece of the old lady’s, and was consequently free of the farm-house and garden, into which she could not resist going for the pur- poses of gossip and flirtation with the heir ap- parent, who was a dawuling fellow, never oub oF work as he ought to have been. The moments Charity had found her cousin, or any other ocen- pation, Tom would slip away; and in a minute shrill cries would be heard from the dairy, * Char- ity, Charity, thee iazy hussy, where bist?” and Tom would break cover, hands and mouth full of curds, and take refuge on the shaky surface of the great muck reservoir in the middle of the yard, disturbing the repose of the great pigs. Here he was in safety, as no grown person could - follow without getting over their knees; and the
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luckless Charity, while her aunt scolded her from the dairy-door, for being ‘“‘allus hankering about arter our Willum, instead of minding Master Tum,” would descend from threats to coaxing, to jure Tom outof the muck, which was rising over his shoes and would soon tell a tale on Is stock- ings, tor Which she would be sure to catch it from Missus’s mind. Tom had two abettors in the shape of a couple of old boys, Noah and Benjamin by name, who defended him from Charity, and expended mucn time upon his education. They were both of them retired servants of former generations of the Browns. Noah Crook was a keen dry old man of almost ninety, but still able tototter about. He talked to Tom quite asif he were one of his own family, and indeed had long completely identified the Browns with himself. In some remote age he had been the attendant of a Miss Brown, and had conveyed her about the country on a pillion, He had a little round picture of theidentical gray horse, caparisoned with the identical pillion, be- fore which he used to doa sortof fetish worship, and abuse turnpike roads and carriages. He wore an old full-bottomed wig, the gifs of some dandv old Brown whom he had yaleted in the middle of last century, which habilament Master Tom look- ed upon with considerable respect, not to 8a, fear; and indeed his whole feeling towards Not was strongly tainted with awe: aud when the old gentleman was gathered to his fathers, ee ih wasepretty sfull-couahed te lose who lamentations over him was not unaccompanied by a certain joy at having seen the last of the wig: “ Poor old Noah, dead and gone,” said he, ay aon Boots sosorry! Put him in the coffin, wig and all !” But old Benjy was young Master’s real delizht and refuge. © was a youth by the side of Noah, scarce seventy years old. A cheery, humorous, kind-hearted old man, full of sixty years of Vale gossip, and of all sorts of helpful ways for young and old, but above all for children, It was ho who bent the first pin weth which Tum extracted his first stickleback out of “Pevbly Brook,” the little stream which ran through the village. The first stickleback was a splendid fellow, with fa- bulous red and blue gills. Tom kept him ina small basin till the day of his death, and became a fisherman from thatday. Within a month from the taking of the first stickleback, Benjy had car- ried off our hero to the canal, in defiince of Ciar- ity; and between them, after a whole afternoon's . povjoying, they had caught three or four small coarse fish and a perch, averaging perhaps two and a half ounces each, which Tom bore home in rapture to his mother as\a precious gift, and which sbe received like a true mother with equal rapture, ‘instructing the cook nevertheless, in a rivate interview, not to prepare the same for the quire’s dinner, Charity had appealed against old Benjy in the mean time, representing the dan- » gersof the canal banks; but Mrs. Brown, seeing the boy’s inapticude for female guidance, had de- cided in Benjy’s favor, and from thenceforth the old man was Tom’s dry nurse. And as they sat by the canal watching their little green and white float, Beajy wouldinstruct him in the doings of deceased Browns. How his grandfather, in the early days of the great war, when there was much distress and crime in the Vale, and the magistrates had been threatened by the mob, had ridden in with @ big stick in his hand, and held the Petty Sessions by himself. How his great unole, the Rector, had encountered and iaid the last ghost, who had frightened tbe old women, malo and female, of the parish, out of their senses, and who turned out to be the blacksmith’s ap- Heated disguised in drink and a white sheet. twas Benjy too who saddled Tom’s first pony, and instructed him in the mysteries of horseman- ship, teaching him to throw his weight back and keep his hand low; and who stood chuckling out- | side the door of the girl’s school when Tom rode bis little Shetland into the cottage and round the u table, where the old dame and her pupils were seated at their work. Benjy himself was come of a family distin- guished in the Vale for their prowessin allathletic games. Some half-dozen of his brothers and kins- men had gone to the wars, of whom only one had survived to come homé, with a small pensivn, and three bullets in different parts of his body; he had shared be A cotcage till his death, aud had left him his old dragoon sword and pistol, which hungover the mantel-piece, flanked by a pairpf heavy single-sticks, with which Benjy hims(Tf had won renown long ago as an old gamester, against the picked men of Wiltshire and Somer- setshire, in many a good boutat the revels and pastimes of the country-side. For he had been a Tawous back-sword man in his young days, aud a good wrestler at elbow and collar. Back-swording and wrestling were the most se- rious holiday pursuits of the Valte—those by which men attained fame—and each village had its champion. [suppose that, on the whole, people were jess worked than they are now; atany rate, . “they seemed to have more time and energy for “ the old pastimes. The great times for back- swording came round once a year in each village, at the feast. The Vale “veasts’’ were not the eommon statute feasts, but much moro ancient business. They are literally, so far as one can ascertain, feasts of the dedication, i. ¢., (hey were tirst established in the church-yard on the day on which the village church was opened for public worship, which wason the wake or festival of the TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. {patron saint, and have been held on the same day in every year since that time. Toere was no louger any remembrance of why the “veast” had been institured, but nevertheless 1t had a pleasant aud almost sacred character of ics own, For it was then that all the children of the village, wherever they were scattered, tried to get home for a holiday to visis their fathers and mothers and friends, bringing with them their wages or some little gift from up the cvun- try for the old folk. Perhaps for a day or two be- fore, but at any rare on “ veast-day"’ and tho duy after, in our village, you might see strappio healthy youug men and women from all parts ot the country going round from house to house in their best clothes, and finishing up with a call on Madam Brown, whom they would consult as to putting out their carnings to the best advuntage, or how best to expend the same for the benefit of the old folk. Every household, however poor, managed to raise a ‘feast cake” and bottle of ginger or rdisin wine, which. stood on the cottage table ready for all comers, and not unlikely to make them remember feast time—for feast-cake is very solid andfullof huge raisins. Moreover feast-ime was the day of reconciliation for the \purish. If Job Higgins and Noah Freeman hadn’o spoken for the last 81x months, their “ old women” would be sure to getit patched up by that day. Aud though there was a good deal of drinking and low vice in ths booths of an even- would haye been doing the lik+, “veust or no yeast ;”’ and, on the whole, the eifect was human- izing and Christian. Ia facc, tue only reason why this is not the case still, is that gentlefolk and farmers have taken to otaer amusements, aud have, as usual, forgotten the poor, They dou’t actend tbe feast themselves, and call them disreputable, wieroupon the steadicst of the poor leave them also, and they become what they are called. Class amusements, be they for dukes or ploughboys, always become buisances and curses toncountry, Tae true charm of cricket and hunting 1s, that they are still more or less so- ciable and untversal; there’s a place for every man who willcome and tuke his part. No one iu the village enjoyed the approach of “yeast day” more than Tom, in the year in which he was taken under old Benjy’s tutelage. The feast was held in a large green ‘fielu ut the lower end of the village. Tue road to Farringdon ran along one side of it, and the brook by the side of the road; and above the brook was another large gentle sloping pasture-land, with a foot-path panning down it trom the church-yard; and the oléthurca, the originator of all the mirth, towered up with its gray walls and lancet win- dows, overlooking und sanctioning the whole, though its own sharo therein had been forgotten, At the point where the foot-patu crossed the brook and road, and entered on th3 field where the feast was held, was a long low roadside inn, and on the opposite side of the field was a large white thatched farm-house, where dwelt an old sporting farmer, a great promoter of the revels, Past the old church, and down the footpath, pottered the old anand the child hand ia hand early in the afcernoon of the day before tie feust, and waudered all around the ground, which wus already being occupied by the “cheap Jacks,” with their green-covered carts and marvelivus as- sortment of wares, and the booths of morse legili- mate small traders with their tempting arrays of fairings and eatables; and penny peep-showsand other shows, containing pimk-cyed ladies, and dwarfs, and boa-constrictors, and wild Tadians. But the object of most interest to Benjy, and of course to his pupil also, was tue stage of rough planks some four feet high, which was being put up by the village carpenter tor the back-sword- ing and wrestliog; andafter surveying the whole tenderly, old Benjy led his charge uway to the roadside inn, where he ordered a glass of alo and along pipe for himself,and discussed these un- wonted luxuries on the bench outside in the soft autumn evening with wine host, another old ser- yautof the Browns, and speculated with him oa the likelihood of a good show of old gamesters to contend for the morrow’'s prizes, and tul 1 tales of the gallant bouts forty years back, to which Tom listened with all his cars and eyes. But who shall tell the joy of the next morning, when the church bells were ringing a merry peal, and old Benjy appeared in the servants’ hull, res- plendent in a long blue coat and brass buttous, and a pair of old yellow buckskins aud top-bovts, which he had cleaned for and inherited from Tom’s grandfather; a stout thorustickin his hand, and a nosegay of pinks and lavendar in his button- hole, and Jed away Tom in his best clothes, and two new shillings in his breeches pockets? These two, atany rate, look like enjoying the day’s revel, Tuey quicken their paco when they get into the church-yard, tor already they see the ficld throng- ed with country folk, the men in clean white smocks or velveteen or fustian coats, with rough plush waistcoats of many colors, and the women in the beautiful long scarlet cloak, the usual out- door dress of West-country women in those days, and which often descended in families from mo- ther to daughter, or in new-fashioned stuffshawls, which, if they would but believe it, don’t become ‘them hulf so well. The air resownds with the pipe and tabor, and tne drums and trumpets of the showmen shouting at the doors of tneir caravans, over which tremendous pictures of the wonders to be scen within hang temptiugly; ty while through all rises the shrill “ root-too-too-too™ of Mr. Punch, and the uoceasing pau-pipe of his satellite. : “Lawk a’ massey, Mr. Benjamin,” cries a stout motherly woman in a red cloak, as they enter the field, ‘‘ve that you? Well I never! you do look purely. And how's the Squire, and Madam, aud the family ?” Benjy graciously shakes hands with the speaker, who hasleft our village for some years, but has come over for Veast-day on a visit to au old gos- sip—and gently indicates the heir apparent of the Browns. “Bless his little heart! I must gi’ un a kiss. ; Here, Susunnah, Susanuah!” cries she, raising ler- | self from the embrace, ‘come and see Mr. Benj.- miu and young Master Tom. You minds our Ba- key, Mr. Benjamin? she be growed a rare slip of a wench since you seen her, tho’ her'll be sixteen come Murtinmas, I do aim to take her to see Ma- dam to get her a place.” And Sukey comes bouncing away from a knot of . old schoolfellows, and drops a poche to Mr. Benjamin. And elders come up from alll purrs tu ! salute Benjy, and girls who have been Madam’s pupils to kiss Master Tom. And they carry hip, off to load him with fairings; and he returns to | Benjy, his hat and coat covered with ribbons,and his pockets crammed with wouderful boxes which . open uvon ever new boxes and boxes, and pop- guns and trumpets, aod apples, and gilt ginger- bread from the stall of Angel Heavens, sole ven- der thereof, whose booth groans with kings and queens, and elephants, and prancing steeds, all sleaming with gold. There was more goid on Angel’s cakes than there is ginger in those of this degenerate uge. Skilled diggers might yet make a fortuuve iu the churchyards of the Vale, by carefully washing the dust of the consumers of Angel's gingerbread. Alas! he is with his nawesakes, aud his receipts have, I fear, died with him. And then they inspect the penny. peep-show, atleast Tum does, whule old Benjy stunds out- side and gossips, and walks up the steps, and enters the mysterious doors of the pink-eyed lady and the Irish Giant, who do not by uny means come up to their pictures, and the bow wil not swallow his rabbit, but there the rab- bitis waiting tu bo swallowed—and what can you expect_for tuppence? We are easily pleased iu tue Vale. Now there is a rush of the crowd, and a tinkling bell is heard, and shouts of laughter; aud Master Tom mounts on Benujy's shoulders, and Leholds « jingliag match fu all its glory. Tue games are bogun, and tis the opening of them. Ic¢ is @ quaint gure, immonsely amusirg tu look af; andas I du i know whether 16 is used in your counties, [ Lad better describe it, A large roped ring i4 made, into which are introduced a dogen or 80 big boys or young menu who mean to play; these are cure- fully blinded and turned loose into the ring, and then @ mau iwintroduced net blindfolded, witha bell hung roung his neck, and histwo hunds tied behind Lim. Of course, every time ho moves the bell must ring, as be has no hand to holdit, and so the dozen blindfolded men have to catch him. This they can not always manage if be is a lively fellow, but half of them always rush into the arms of the other half, or drive their heads to- gether, or tumble over; and then the crowd laughs yehemently, and invents nickuames for them on the spur of the moment, and they, if they be chol- eric, tear off the handkercliefs which blind tuem, and not unfrequently pitek into one another, cach thinking that the other must have run against him on purpose, Itis great fun to look at a jiog- ling match certainly, and Lom shouts and jumps on old Benjy’s shoulders at the sigat, until the old * man feels weary,and shifts him to the strong young shoulders of the groom, who has just got. down to tne fun, a And now, while they aro elimbing the pole, in another part of the flel d muzzlng ina flour- tub in another, the old mer whose house, as has been said, overlooks the field, and who is mas- ter of the revels, gets up the steps on to the Btage, and announces to all whom it way Concern tuat a half-soyereign in money will be fortucoming for the old gamester who breaks 1nost heads; to which the Squire and he have added a new hat, The amount of the prize is sufficient to stimu- late the men of the immediate neighborhood, but not enough to bring any very high talent from a distance; 89 after a glance or two round, a tall fellow, Whu is a down shepherd, chucks his hat on to the stage and climbs up the steps, looking rather sheepish. The crowd of courso first cheer, and then chaff as usual, as he picks up his hat and begins handling the sticks to see which will suithim. ¢ “Wooy, Willum Smith, thee canst pluay wi’ he arra duay,” suys his companion to the blick- sinith’s apprentice, a stout youug fellow of nine- teen or twenty. Willum’s sweetheart is in the “veast’’? somewhere, and has strictly enjoined him not to gethis head broke at back-swordiug, on pain of her highest displeasure ; but as gle is not P to be seen (the women pretend not to like to see the back-sword play, and keep away from the stage), and as his hatis decidedly getting old, ue chucks it on tbe stage, and follows himselt, hoping ae he will only have to break other people’s h or or that after all Richel won't really m ind. Then follows the greasy cap lined with fur of a %
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psy, poaching, loafing fellow, who travels ‘ale not for much good, I faucy : “ Full twenty times was Peter feared ” - For once that Peter was respected,” an fact. And then three or four more hats, inelud- dng the glossy castor of Joe Willis, the self-siected and would-be champion of the neighborhood, a well-to-do young butcher of twenty-eight or there- abouts, and a great strapping fellow, with his full allowance of bluster. This is a capital show of \ gamesters, considering the amount of the prizo; so while they are picking their sticks and drawing | their Iocs, I think £imust tell you, as shortly as I can, how the noble ola game of back-sword is played; for it is sadly gone out ofjate, even in the Vaile, and may be you have never seen it. The weapon is a good stout ash stick with a} large basket handle, heavier and somew hat short- er thanacommon single-stick. The players are walled “old gamesters’’—why,If can’t tell you— and their object is simply to break ons anothcr’s heads, for the momest that blood runs an inch anywhere aboye the eyebrow, the old gamesier to whom it belongs is beaten, and has to stop. A | very slight blow with the sticks will fetoh blood, | so thatitis by no meansa punishing pastime, if the men don't play on purpose and savagely, at the body and arms of their adversaries. The old gumester going 1uto action, only takes off his hat | and coat, and arms himself with astick; ho thea loops the fingers of his left hand ina handker- | chief or strap, Which he fastens round his left leg, | measuring the length, 60 that when he draws it tight with mnsleftelbow tn their, thatelbow sal! just reach us hich as hiscrown. Thus you see, so nz as he chooses to keep his left elbow up, re- #ardiess of ours, he has a perfect guard fur the Jeft side of his bead. Then he advances his rignt hand above andin frout of his head, holding his) stick seross, 80 thatits point projects an inch or two over his left elbow, und thus his whole head is completely guarded, and he faces his man srmed in like manner, and they staud some three lect apart, often nearer, and feint, and strike, and return at one another's heads uv til one cries “hola,” oF blood flows; in the first cace they are allowed a minute’s time, and go on again; in the latter another pair of gamesters are called on. tf good men are playing, the quicknecs of tho re- iuim is marvellous; you hear the rattio like that 2 boy makes drawing his stick along palings, only eavier,and the closeness of the men in action | to oue another gives it a strange interest aud mht a spell ab backswording a very noble Sight. They are all suited now with sticks, and Joe Wills and the gypsy man have drawn the drst jot. So the rest lean against the rails of the atage,and Joe and the dark man meetin tho middie, tae yoards haying been strewed with saw- dust; Joe’s white shirt and spotless drab breeches and boots contrasting with tue gypsy’s course blue shirt and dirty green velveteen breeches and leather gaiters. Jov is evidently turning up Lis nose at the other, aad half insulted at huving to break bis head. The gypsy is a tough active fellow, but not syery skilliul with his weapon, so that Joe’s weight and strength tellin a minute; he js too heavy metal for him—whack, whack, whack, «come his blows, breaking gown the gypsy’s| suard and threatening to reach bis head ever moment. There it is at last—‘Blood, vloud!” -lout the spectators, asa thin stream oozes out wiowly from the roots of his bair,and tue un- yire calls to them tostop. The gypsy scowls at woe under his brows in no pleasant manner, while Master Joe swaggers about and makes,atti- tudes, und thinks bimself,uud suows that he tuinks himself, the greatest wan in to field. Then follow several stout sets-to between the other candidates for the new hat, and at last come the sbepherd and William Smith. This is ‘the erack set-to of the day. They are buih in famous wind, and there is no crying “hold;” the shepherd 13 an old Band, and up to all the dod- ses; he tries them Obe after auotuer, anu very nearly geis ut Willum’s head by coming in near, und playing over his guard abt Ube halt-stick, vut somenow Willum blunders through, catching the Stick ou his shoulders, neck, sides, every now and thev, anywhere but on his head, and his re- turns are heavy and straight, und he 13 the youngest gamester and a favorite in the parish, and bis gullant stand brings down shouts and cheers, aud the knowing ones think he'll win if he keeps steady, and Tom on the groom’s shuul- der telds his Lands together, and can hardly breathe for excitement, Alas for Willum! bis sweetheart getting tired of female compaviouship has been hunting the wooths tosee where he can have got to, aud vow cutches sight of him on the stage 1u full combat. Sue flushes and turns pale; her old aunt catches hold of her saying, ‘Bless ’ee, child, doau’6 ce #0 a’nigst it;” but she breaks away and runs towards the staee cailing bis name Willuw ‘Keeps up his guard stoutly, but glances for a mo- ment leowards the yoice. No guard will do it, Willum, without the eye. Tue shepherd steps round and sirikes, and ve point of his stick just %razes Willum’s forehead, fetching off the skin, ~and the blood flows, aud te umpire eries ‘ Hold,” and poor Willum’s chance is up for the day. But he takes it very well, and puts on his old hat and at, and goes down to be scolded by his sweet-! halt. the | wiud and begins to poff, and the crowd laugh: TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS. heart, and led away out of mischief. Tom hears him say coaxingly as he walks: ‘“*Now doan’t ee, Rachel. I wouldn’t ha’ done if, only I wanted sammut to buy ee a fairing wi,’ and T be as vlush 0’ money as @ twod o’ veath- ers. “Thee mind what I tells ee,” rejoins Rachel! suucily, “and doan’t ee kep blethering about tnirings.” Tom resolves in his beart to give Willum the remainder of his two shil'ings after tao back-swording. Joe Willis has all the luck to-day. His next bout ends in an easy victory, while the shepherd} has a tough job to break his second head; and when Joe and the shepherd meet, and the whole cirele expect and hope to see him get a broken) crown, the shepherd slips in the first round, aud falls against the rails, hurting himself so that the old farmer will not let him go on, muchas he wishes to try; and that impostor Joe (for hois certainly not the best man) struts and swaggers about the stage the conquering gamester, though he hasn’t had five minutes’ really trying play. Joe takes the new hatin his hand, and puts the money into it, and then, as if a thought strikes him, and he doesn’t think his victory quite acknow- legged down below, walks to each face of the! stage, and looks down, shaking the money, and chi ffing, as how he’ll stake hat and monev and avother half-sovereign ‘fagin any mester as hasn’t played already.” Cunning Joe! he thus gets rid of Willum and the shepherd, who is quite fresh again. Nv one seems to like the offer, and the umpire is just coming down, when a queer old hat, some- thing hke a Doctor of Divinity’s shovel, is chucked on to the stage, and an elderly quiet mau steps out, who has been watching the play, saying he should like to cross a stick ‘‘ wi’ the prodigalish young chap.” Tbe crowd cheer and begin to chaff Joe who turus up bis nose and swaggers across to the sucks. ‘‘Imp’dent old wosbird!” saya ne, “Vl break the bald head on un to the truth.” The old boy is very bald certainly, and the iced will show fast enoughif youcan touch him, oe. He takes off his long-flapped coat, and stands up in a long-flapped waistcoat, which Sir Roger de Coverley might have worn when it was new, picks ous a stick, aud is ready for Master Joe, who loses no time, but begins his old game, whuck, whack, whack, trying to break dowa the old mun’s guard by sheer strength, Butit woun’t do—be catches every blow close by thé basket; aud though he is rather stiffin his returns, after a minute walks Joe about the stage, and is clear- ly @ staunch old ganfester. Joo now comes in, and makiog the most of his height, tries to get over the old man’s guard at half-stick, by which he takes a smart blow in the ribs and another on the elbow and nothing more. Anda now ho Joses “Cry, ‘hold,’ Joe—thees’t met thy match!” In- stead of taking goud advite and getting his wind, doe loses his temper, and strikes at the old man’s 06 y lood, blood !” shout the crowd, “ Joe’s head’s broke!” Who'd have thought it? How did i come? That body-blow left Joe’s head unguarded for a moment, and with one turn ot the wrist the old Kenlleman has picked a neat little bit of skin off tue middle of his forehead; and though he won’t believe it, aud hammers on for three more blows despite of the shouis, is then convinced by the blood trickling into his eyes. Poor Joe is sadly crest- failep, and fumbics in his pockets for toe other hall-sovercign, bub the old gumester won’t have it. “Keep the money, wan, aud gi’s thy hand,” says Le, and they shake hands; vut the old game- stergives the new hat to the shepherd, anu, soon after, tue half suvereign to Willuim, wuo therevut decorates Lis sweetheart with ribbons to his neurt’s conteut. “Who cana bet?” “Wur do a cum from ?’ ask the crowd. And it soon flies about that the old west-country champion, who played a tie with Shaw the lite-guardsman at “ Vizes” twenty years before, has broken Jve Willis’s crown ier him, ‘How my country fair is spinning out! I see T must skip the wrestling, and the boysjumping in sacks, and rolling wheelburrows blindfolded: aud the aonkey-race, and the fignt which arose tuere- out, marring the otherwise peacerul * veast,” and tbe frightened scurrying away of the female feast- gocrs, and descent of Squire Brown, summoned by the wife of one ol the combatants to stopir; which he wouldn’t start todo tiiLhe had goton his top-boots. Tom iscarried away by old Benjy, dog- fear, in many cases, may be read in the pages ee sear (though I never saw.one 60 bad—thanig Od Do you want to know why? Itis because, as I said before, geutiefolk and farmers have left off joining or taking an interestin them. They don’t either subscribe to tbe prizes, or 7° 4°—~n and enjoy the fun, ? Is this a good ora bad sign? I hardly know. Bad, sure enough, if itonly arises from the further’ separation of classes consequent on twenty years buying cheapand selling dear, and its pi paiaae Ing over-work; or because our sons and daugh-! ters have their hearts in London Ciub-ife, or so! called Society, instead ofin the old English home- duties; because farmers’ sons are apg - fine gentlemen, and farmers’ daughters cariug more to make bad foreign musi¢ than good English cheeses. Good, perhaps, if it be that the time for the old “veast” has gone by, thatitis no longer the healthy, sound expressivn of Enghsh country holiday-making; that,in fact, wo asu nation have got beyond il, andare in & transition state, feeling tor and soon likely to find some better substitute, Ouly I have just got this to say before I quitthe ‘text. Doun’tlet reformers of any sort thing that they are going really to lay hold of the working boys and young men of Enyland by any educa- tional grapvel whatever, which hasn’t some Jona fide equivalent for the games of the old country ““vease” in it; something to putin the place of the back-swording and wrestling and racing; sometuiug to try the mnscles of men’s bodies,and the endurance of their hearts, and to make them rejoice in their strength, In allthe new-fangled comprehensive plans which I see, this is all left out; and the consequence is, that your great Mechanics’ Institutes end in intellectual priggism, and your Cbristian Young Men’s Societies im religious Pharisaisin. Well, well, we must hide our time. Life is’nt all beer and skittles—but beer and skittles, or something better of the same sort, must form a good part of every Englishman’s education. It I could only drive this iuto the beads of you rising Parliamentary Lords, and young swells who “have your ways made for you,” as the saying is —you, who frequent palaver houses and West-end clubs, waiting always ready to strap yourselves on to the back of poor dear old Jolin, as soon us the present used-up lot (your fathers and uncles), who sit there on the great Parliamentary majori- ties’ pack-saddle, and make believe they’re guiding bim with their red-iape bridle, tumble, or have to be lifted off. I don’t think much of you yet—I wish I could; though you do go talking and lecturing up and down the cuuntry to erowded audiences, aud are busy with all sorts of philanthropic intellectual- ism, and circulating librartes and museums, and Heaven only kuows what besides; and try to make us think, through newspaper reports, that you are, even us we,of the working classes, Bur, bless your hearts, we “we ain’t so zreen;” thong. lots of us of all sorts toady you enough Certainly, and try to make you thiuk so. Till tell you what to do now: instead of all this trumpeting and fuss, which is only the old Parh- amentary-majority dodge over agaiu—just you go, each of you (;ou’ve plenty of time for it, it you'll only give up other line) and quietly muke three or four friends, real friends, among us. You'll tind a little trouble in getting at the right sort because such birds don’t come ligutly to your lure—but found they may be. Take, say, two out of the professions, lawyer, parson, doc- tor,—which you will; one out of trade, and three orfour out of the working classes, tailors, engi- neers, carpenters, engravers—there’s plenty of choice. Let them be men of your own ayes, mind, and ask them to your homes; introduce them to your wives and sisters, aud get intro- duced to theirs; give them goud dinners, wud talk to them about what is really at the bottom of haa hearts. and box, and run, and row with hem, when you have a chaner. bo all this hon- estly as man to man, aud by the tims you come to ride old John, you'll be able to do something more thau sit on his back,and may feel his mouth witn some stronger bridle than a red tape oue. Ab, if you only would! But you haye got too far outor the rightrut, [fear, Too mucu over civilization and the deceitfuluess of riches. It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. More’s the pity. I never came across but two of you who could valusc a man waolly and solely for what was in him; who thought themselves verily and indeed of the same flesh and blood as John Jones the attorney’s clerk, and Bil Smith the costermonger, and could act as if tired and surfeited with pleasure,as the evening comes on and the dancing begins in the booths; and thougu William and Rachel in her new rib- bons aud many another good lad and lass dou’t como away just yet, but have a goodsiep out, and enjoy it, and get no hurm thereby, yet we, being sober tulk, will just stroll away up through the chureb-yard, and by the old ewe-tree; and get a quiet dish of tea and a parle with our gossips, as tue steady ones of our village do, and so to bed. That's the fair true sketch as fur as it goes, oc, of oucof ihe larger village feasts in the Vale of: Berks, when I was a little boy. They are mucha altered for the worse, I am told, I haveun’t been at one these tweaty yeurs, but I have been at tac statute fuirs In some west-country towns, where servants are hired, and greater abominalious can not be found. What village feasts have come to, I they thought so. CHAPTER IIL SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES, 4 Poor old Benjy! the “rheumatiz” has muck to auswer for ali through English couutry-sives, but it never played a scurvier trick than im Bying thee by the heels, when thou wac* vetia a green <x age. The enemy which ha. long been carrying on a sort of border warfare, and trying his sercneh oe Benjy’s on the battle-flela of his hands and legs, now, mustering all bis foroes, began laying siege to the citadel, and overrunin the whole eonnys Benjy was seized in the ba and loins; and though he made strong and brave
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fight, if was soon clear enough that all which could be beaten of poor old Benjy would have to give in before long. Tt was as much as he could do now, with his big stick and frequent stops, to hobble down to the canal with Master Tom, and bait his hook for him, and sit and watch him angling, telling him quaint old country stories; and when Tom had no sport, and detecting a rat some hundred yards or so off along the bank, would rush off with Toby, the turnspit terrier, his other faithful com- panion, in bootless’ pursuit, he might have tumbled inand been drowned twenty times over before Benjy could have got near him. 2 Cheery and unmindful of himself as Benjy was, this loss of locomotive power bothered him great- ly. He had got a new object in his old age, and Was just beginning to think himself useful again in the world, He feared much, too, lest Master Tom should fall back again into the hands of Charity and the women. So he tried every thing he could think of to get setup. He even went an expedition to the dwelling of one of these queer morials, who—say what we will, and reason how we will—do cure simple people of diseases of one kind or another wil bout the aid of physic; and so get to themselves the reputation of using charms, and inspire fur themselves and their dwellings great respect, not to say fear, amongst a simple folk such as the dwellers in the Vale of White Horse. Where this power, or whatever else it may be, descends upon tho shouldersof a man whose ways are not straight, he becomes a nui- sanee to the neighborhood; a receiyer of stolen goods, giver of love-potions, and deceiver of silly women; the avowed enemy of law and order, of justices of the peace, head-boroughs, and game-keepers—such a man in fact as was recently caught tripping, aud deservedly dealt with by the Leeds justices tor seduciug a girl who had come to him to get back a faithless lover, and has been convieted of bigamy since then. Sometimes, however, they are of quite a different stump, men who pretend to nothiug, and wie with difficulty persuaded to exercise their occult arts in tue simplest cases. Of tuis latcer sort was Old Farmer Ives, as he was called, the “* wise man’ to whom Benjy re- sorted (taking Tom with himas usual), in the ear- ly spring of the year next after the feast described in the last chapter. Why he was called “ farm- er” I can not say, unlessit bo that he was the own- er of a cow, @ pig or two, and some poultry, which he maintained on about an acre of land inclosed from the middle of a wild common, on which probably his father had squatted before Jords of manors looked as keenly after their rights as they do now. Here he had lived no one knew how long, a solitary man, It was often rumor- ed that he wus vo be turned out and his cottage pulled down, but somebow it never came to pass; and lis pigs and cow went grazing on the common, and his geese hissed at the passing children and at the heels of tae horse of my lord’s steward, who often rode by with a covet- ous eye on the inclosure, still unmolested. His dwelling was some miles from our Village; so Benjy, who was half ashamed of his errand, and wholly unable to walk there, had to exercise much ingenuity to getthe means of transporting himself and Tom thither without exciting sus- icion. However, one fine May morning he man- ed to borrow the old blind pony of our friend the publican, and Lom persuaded Madam Brown to give him @ holiday to spend with old Benjy, and to lend them the Squire’s light cart, stored with breadandcold meat anda bottle of ale. “And s0 the two in high glee started behind old Dobbin, and jogged along the deep-rutted plashy roads, which had not been wended atter their winter’s wear, towards the dweliing of the wizard. About noon they passed the gate which opened on to the large common, and old Dobbin toiled slowly up the hill, while Benjy pointed out a little deep din- gle on the] ft, out of which welled a tiny steam, As they crept up the hill the tops of a few birch- trees came in sight, and blue smoke curling up through their delicate light boughs; and then the little white thatched home and iuclosed ground of Farmer Ives, lying cradled in the dingle, with the gay gorse common rising behind and on both sides; while in front, after traversing a gentle slope, the eye might travel for miles and miles over the rich vale. They now left the main road and struck into a green track over tre common, marked lightly with wheel and horse-shoc, which led down into the dingle and stopped atthe rough \/gate of Farmer Ives. Here they found the farmer, jan lron-gray old man, with a bushy eyebrow and trong aquiline nose, busied in one of his voca- tions. He was a horse and cow doctor, and was tending a sick beast which had been sent up to be eared. Benjy hailed him as an old friend, and he ‘returned the greeting cordially enough, looking, however, hard for a moment both at Benjy and Tom, to see whether ticre was more in their visit than appeared at firstsight. It was a work of some difficulty and danger for Benjy to reach the ‘ground, which, however, he managed to do with- {out mishap; «nd then he devoted himself to un- harnessing Dobbin, and turning him out fora graze (“a run” one could not say of a virtuous steed onthe common. Tuis done, he cxtricated the col hl eRe from the cart, and they entered the armer’s wicket; and be, shutting up the knife with which he was taking maggots out of the cow’s back and sides, accompanied them toward “he cottage A big old lurcker gocup siowly frou TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. the door-stone, stretching first one hind leg and} then the other,and taking Tom’s caresses and the presen ge of Toby, who kept, however, at a respect- ul distance, with equal indifference. “Us be eum to pay cea visit. I’ve a been long minded to do’t for old sake’s sake, only I vinds I dwont get abous now as I’d used to’t. I be so plaugy bad wi’ th’ rumatiz in my back.” Benjy paused, in hopes of drawing the farmer at once on the subject of lis ailments without further direct ppetvanans ‘Ah, [see as you bean’t quite so lissom as you was,” replied the father with a grim smile, as he lifted the latch of his door; “we bean’t so young as we was, nother on us, wuss luck.” The farmer’s cottage was vory like those of the better class of peasantry in general. A snug) chimney-corner with two seats and asmall carpet on the hearth, an old flint gun and a pair of spurs over the fireplace, # dresser with shelves on which some bright pewter plates and_crockery-ware were arranged, an old walnut tuble, a few chairs and settees, some framed samplers, and an old print or two, and a bookease with somo dozen volumes on the walls, a rack with filitches of bacon, and other stores fastened to the ceiling, | and you have the best part of the furniture. No) sign of occult artis to be seen, unless the bundles of dried herbs hanging to the rack and in the ingle, and the row of labeled vials on one of the shelves, betoken it. Tom played about with some kittens whe occu- pied the hearth, and with a goat who walked de- murely in at the open door, while their host and Benjy spread the table for dinner—and was soon engaged in conflict with the cold meat to which he did much honor. The two old men’s talk was of old comrades and their deeds, mute inglorious Miltons ot the Vale, and of the doings thirty years back—which dido’s interest him much ex- cepb when they uh of the making of the canal, and then, indeed, he began to listen with all his ears; and learned to his no small wonder, that his dear and wonderful canal had not been there always—was not in fact, as old as Benjy or Farmer Ives, which cuused a strange commotion in his small brain. After dinner Benjy called attention to a wart which Tom had on the knuckles of his hand, and which the family doctor had been trying his skill on without suecess, and begged the farmer tocharmitaway. Farmer Ives looked atit, mut- fered something or another overit, and cut some noteheés in-a short stick which he hauded to Ben- jf, giviug him fastructious for cutting it down on certain days, aud cautioning Tom not to meddle with the wart for a fortnight, And} then they strolled outand sat ona bench ia the sun with their pipes, and the pigs came up and grunted sociably, and let Tom seratch them; and the farmer, secing how he liked animals, stood up and held his arms in the air and gavoa call which brought a flock of pigeons wheeling and dashing through the birch trees. ‘They settled down in clusters on the farmer's arms and) shoulders, making love to him and scrambling over one another’s backs to get to his fuce; and then he-threw them all oft and they fluttered about close by, and lighted on him again and again, when he held up his arms. All the creatures about the place wero clean and fear- less, quite unlike their relations elsewhere; and Tom begged to be taught how to make all the pigsand cows and poultry in our village tame, at which the farmer only gave one of his grim chuckles, It wasn’t till they were just ready to go, and old Dobbin was harnessed, that Benjy broached the subject of his rheumatism again, detailing his symptoms, one by one. Poorold boy! He hoped the farmer could charm it away us easily as he could Tom’s wart, and was ready with equal faith to put another notched stick iato his other pocket, for the cure of hisown ailments. The physician shook his head, but nevertheléss produced a bottle and handed it to Benjy with instructions foruse. “Notast’/ldoee much good—leastways Tbe afeared not,” shading his eyes with his hand, and looking up at them in the cart; “there’s only one thing as I knows on, as’ll cure old folks like you and [ o’ th’ rheumatis.” “Wot be that, then, farmer?” inquired Benjy. “Onureh-yard mould,” said the old jron-gray man with another chuckle, And so they said their good-byes and went their wayshome. ‘Tom’s wart was gone in afortnight, but not so Benjy’s rheumatism, which laid him by the haels more and more. And though Tom sull spent many an hour with him, as he sab On a bench in the sun- shine, or by the chimney corner when it was cold, he soon had to seek elsewhere for his regular companions. ‘Yom had been accustomed often to accompany his mother in her visits to the cottages, and had thereby made acquaintance with many of the village boys of his owoage. There was Job Rud- kin, son of widow Rudkin, the most bustling woman in the parish. How she could ever have had such a stolid boy as Job for a child, must al- ways remain a mystery. Tue first time Tom went to their cottage with his mother, Job was not indoors, buf he entered soon after, and stood with both hands in his pockets staring at Tom. Widow Rudkin, who would have had tocross .1ad- am to get at youug Hopetul—a breach of good man- ners of which she was wholly incapable—began a series of pantomime signs which only puzzied him, wnd at las., uaanls 10 Coufaim herself loug- er, burst out with, “Job! Job! whero’s thy cap?” . “What! beant ¢e on ma’ head, mother?” replied Job, slowly extricating one hand from a pocket, and feeling for the article in question; which he found on his head sure enougn, and left there, to his mother’s horror and Tom’s great delight. Then there was poor Jacob Dodson, the half- witted boy, who ambled about cheerfully, under- taking messages and little helpful edds and ends for every one, which, howeyer, poor Jacob man- aged always hopelessly to embrangle. Every thing came to pieees in his hands, and nothing would stop in his head. They nicknamed him Jacob Doodle-calt, ; But above all there was Harry Winburn, the quickest and best boy inthe parish, He might be a year older than Tom, but was very little bigger, and he was the very Crichton of our vil- lage boys. He could wrestle and clim» and run better than all the rest, and learned all that the schoolmaster could teach him faster than that worthy atallliked. He was a boy to be proud of, with his curly brown hair, keen gray eye, straight active figure, and little ears and bands and fest— “ag tinue as a lord’s,” as Charity remarked to Tom one day, talking as usual great nonsense. Lords” hands and ears and feet are just as ugly as other folks’ when they are children, as any onc may eonyince. themselves if they like to look. Tights boots and gloves, and doing nothing with them, £ allow make a difference by the time they ure twenty. Now that Benjy was laid on the shelf, and his young brothers were still under petticoat guveru- ment, Tom, in search of companions, began te cultivate the village boys generally more and more. Squire Brown beit said, was a true blue Tory to the backbone, and believed honestly that the powers which be were ordained of Godand that loyalty and steadfass obedience were men’s first duties. Whetherit were in consequence orinspite of his political creed, I do not mean to give ay opinion, though I have one; but certain ib is th xt he held therewith divers social principles not generally supposed to be true blue in color. Fore: most of these and the one which the Squire loved to propound above all others, was the belief that @® man is to be v ileed wholly and solely for that, which he isin himself, for that which stands up in the four fleshy walls of himapart from clothes, rank, fortune, and all externals whatsoever, Waich belief I take to be a wholesome corrective: of all political opinions, andif held sincerely, to make ali opinions equally harmless, Wuether they be blue, red, or green. As a necessary corollary to this belief, Squire Brown held turther that it didn’t matter a straw whether his sou associa- ted with lord’s sons or ploughmen’s sons, provi- ded they wero brave and honest. Hehimself had played foot-ball and gone bird’s-nesting with the farmers whom he met at vestry and the laborers. who tilled their tields, and so had his father and grandfather with their progenitors. So he en- couraged Tom in his intimacy with tue boys of the village, and forwarded it by all means in Ms) power, and guve them the run of a@ close for a playground, and provided bats and balis and a toot-ball for the.r sports. Our village was blessed amongst other things, with a well-endowed schvol. The building stood. by itself, apart from the master’s house, on av. angle of ground where three roads met; an old. gray stone building, with a steep roof and mul- lioned windows. Oa oue of the opposite angles stood Squire Brown’s stables and kennel, witb, their backs to the ‘road, over which towered a great elm treo; ou. the third stood the village carpenter and wheelright’s large open shop, and his house and the schoolmaster’s, with long low eaves under which the swallows built by scores. The moment Tom’s lessons were over, he would now get him down to this corner by the stables, and watch till the boys came outof school. He preyailed on the groom to cut notches for him in the bark of the eli,so that he could cum») lato the lower branches, and there he would sit waten- ing the school door, and speculating on the possi- eae turning thegeim into a dwelling-place for himself and friefids after the manner of the Swiss Family Ropinson. But the school hours were long and Tom’s pati-* eliceshort,sothat be soon began to descend inio (he street and go and peep in at the school-door and the wheelwright’s shop, and look out for some-- thing to wuile away the time. Now the wheel- wright was @ choleric man, and one fine afternon, returning from a short absence, found Lom oc~ cupied with one of his petadzes, the edge of which wasiast vanishing under our hero’s care. Aspeedy flight saved Tom from all but one sound cull on the ears, bat he reseuted this unjustifiable inter- ruption of hisfirstessaysatcarpentering, and still more the further proceedings of the Wheelwright, who cul @ swiich and hung it over the door of his workshop, threateving to use 1b upon Tom if he came within twenty yardsof his gate. So Tom, to retaliate, commenced a war upon tho swallows who dwelt under the wheelwright’s eaves, whom ne barrassed with sticks and stones, and being fleeter of foot than his euemy, escaped all punish-- ment, and kept him in perpetual anger. Move-~ over his presencs about the school-door begaa to incense the master, a3 the.boys in that neighbor— hood neglected their lessons 1n consequence: and more than once he issued into the porch, rod in hand, justas Tom beat a hasty retreat. Aud he aud Lie \Wlivel wright, laying wueie heads together, P
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———= yesolyed to acquaint the Squire with Tom’s after- noon occupations, but, in order to do it with effect, determined to take him captive andleadhimaway to judgment fresh from hisevildoings. Thisthey sould have found some difficulty in doing, had Tom continued the war single-handed, or rather single-footed, for he would have taken to the deep- est part of Pebbly Brook to escapé them; but, like other active powers, he was ruined by his alli- ances. Poor Jacob Doodle-calf could not go tothe school with the other hoys, and one fine afternoon, ubout three o’clock (the school broke up af four), Tom found him ambling about the street, and pressed him into a visit to theschool-porch. Jacob, always ready to do what he was asked, consented, and the two stole down to the school together, Tom first reconnoitered the wheelwright’s shop, and secing no signs of activity, thought all safein that quarter, and ordered at once an‘adyance of all his troops upon the school-porch. The door of the school was ajar, and the boys seated on the wearest bench at once recognized and opened a correspondence with the invaders. Tom, waxing bold, kept putting his head into the school and making faces at the master when his back was turned. Poor Jacob, notinthe least comprebend- ing the situation, andin high gice at finding him- self so near the school, which be had never been allowed to enter, suddenly, in a fit of enthusiasm, pushei by Tom, and ambling three steps into the school, stvod there, looking round him and nod- ding with aself-approvingsmile, The master, who was s'ooping over @ boy’s slate, with his back to the door, became aware of something unusual, and turned quickly round. Tom rushed at Jacob, and began dragging him back by his smock-frock, | andthe master made at them, scattering forms and boys ia his eareer. Even now they mignt have escaped, but that in the porch, barring re- treat, appeared the crafty wheelwrigit, who had been watching all their proceedings. So they were seized. the school dismissed, and Tom and Jacob led away to Squire Brown as lawful prize, the boys foliowing to the gate in groups, aud spec- ulating on the result. Tho Squire Wes very angry at first, but the in- terview, by Tom’s pleading, ended in a compro- mise. Tom was not to go near the school till three o’clock, and only then it he had done his own les- sons well, in which case he was to be the bearer of a note to the master from Squira Brown, aut the master agreed in such case fo release ten or twelve of the best boys an hour be/vore the time i? breaking up, to go off and play in the close, The wheel wright’s adzes and swallows were to be forever respected; and that hero and the master withdrew to the servant’s hall, to drink the 5 ag health, well satisfied with their day’s Work, The second act of Tom’s life may now be said to have begun. The war of independence had been over for some time; none of the women now, not even his mother’s maid, dared cffer to help him in dressing or washing. Between ourselves, he had often at first to run to Benjy in an unfivished state of toilet; Charity and the rest of them seemed to take a delight in putting impossible buttons and ties in the middle of his back; bat he would have gone without neither integuments al- together, sooner than have had recourse to femals valeting, He had a room to himself, and his fa- Pare gave him sixpence a week pocket-money. All this he had achieve by Benjy’s atyice audas- sistance. But now he had conquered another step 3n life, tho step which all real bays so long to make; he had got amongst his equals naga and strength, and could measure himself with other boys; he lived with those whose pursuits and wishes and ways were the same in kind as his own. Toe little governess who had been lately in stalled in the house found her work grow won-! drously easy, for Tour slaved at his lessons in or- der to wake sure of his note to the schoolmaster. So there were very few days in the week in which Tom and the village boys were not playing in their close by three o’clock, Prisoner’s base, rounders, high-cock-a-lorum, cricket, football, he was soou initiated into the delights of them all; and though most of the boys were older than himself, he man- aged to hold his own very well. He was naturally active and strong, and quick of ey@and hand, and had the advantage of light shoes and welt--fitting dress, sO that in a short time he could run and tump aud climb with any of them. Tuey generally finisued their regular games half an hour or so before tea-time, and then began trials of skill and strengihin many ways, Some of them would catch the Shetland pony who was - turned out in the field, and get two or threo on his back, and the little rogue, enjoying the fun, would gallop off for fifty yards aud then turn round, or stop short and shoot them on the turf, and then graze quietly on tillhe felt another Joad ; others played at peg-top or marbles, while a few of the bigger ones stood upfora boutat wrestling. fom at first ouly louked on at this pastime, bub it _ had peculiar atiractions for him, and he eould not long keep oufof it. Eitbow and collar wrestling a8 practised in the western counties was, next to back-swording, the wuy to fame forthe youth of the Vale; and all the boys knew the rules of it, and were more or less expert. But Job Rudkin and Harry Winaburn were the stars, the former suff and sturdy, with legs hike small towers, the latter liantasindia-rudber and quick as lightning. Day after day they stood foot to foot, and off-red 6 one hand and then the other, and grappled TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS. fand closed and swayed and strained, till a well- |almed crook of the he»! or thrust of the loin took | effect, and a fair backfall ended the matter. And |Tom watched with all his eyes, and first chal- ‘enged one of the less scientific, and threw him; land so one by one wrestled his way up to the leaders. Then indeed for months he had a poor time of it; it was not long indeed before he could manage ‘to keep his legs against Job, for that hero was |slow of offense, and gained his victories chiefly by allowiug others to throw themselves against |hisimmovable legs and loins. But Harry Win- |burn was undeniably his master; from the first |eluvch of hands when they stood up, down to the last trip wuich sent him on tohis back on the turf, he felt that Harry knew more and could do more than he. Luckily, Harry’s bright unconscious- ness, and Tom’s natural he temper, kept them from quarreling; and so Tom workei on andon, and trod more and more nearly on Harry’s heels, and at last mastered allthe dodges and falls ex- leept one. Thisono was Harry’sown particular inventionand pet; hs scarcely ever used it except | when hard pressed, but then out 1¢ came, and, as sure asifdid,over went poor Tom. He thought about that fall at his meals,in his walks, when he \lay awake in bed,in hisdreams—but all to no pur- pose; until’Harry one day in Ins open way sug- gested to himehow ho thought it should he met, and in a week from that time the boys were equal, save only the slight difference of strengtu in Harry’s favor, which some extra ten months of age gave. .Tom hai often afterwards reason to be thankful for that early drilling, and above ali for having mastered Harry Winburn’s fall. | Besides their home games on Saturdays the boys wouid wander all overthe neighborhood; / sometimes to the downs or up to the camp, where they cut theirinitials out in the springy tur!,and watched the hawks soaring, and the “ peers” bird, as Harry Winburn called the gray plover, gorgeous in his wedding feathers; and so home, racing ‘down the Mauger with many a rotl among the 'thisties, or through Uilingion-wood to wat-h the fox-cubs playing in the green rides; sometimss to Rosy Brovk to cut long whispering reeds whicit grew there,to make pan-pipes of; sometimes tu Moor Mills, where was a piece of old foresé land, with short browsed turf and tufted brambly thickets stretching under the oaks, amongst which | rumor declared that a raven, last of his race, still |lingered; or to the sand-hills, in vain quest of jrabbits: and birds’-nesting, in the season, any- where and every where. The few neighbors of the Squire’s own rank every now and then would shrug their shoulders as they drove or rode by a party of boys with Tom in the middle, earrying along bulrushes or whispering reeds, or great bundles of cowslip and meadow-sweet, or young starlings or mag pies, or other spoilof ws. brook or meadow; jand Lawyer Red-tapo w.sot mutter to Squire Straightback at the Board, that no good would come of the young Browas, if they were let run wild with all the dirty village boys, whom the best farmers’ sons even would not play with. Aud the Squire might reply with a shake of his head, that his sons only mixed with their equals, and never wens into the village without the coy- erness ora footman. But, luckily, Squire Brown was fully as stiffbacked as his neighbors, and so went on his own way; and Tom and his younger brothers, as they grew up, wenton play- ling with the village boys, without the idea of ‘equality or unequality (except in wrestling, run- ning, and climbing), 6ver entering their heads, as it doesn’t till it’s put there by Jack Nastys or fine ladies’ maids. I don’t mean to say it would be the caso in all villages, but it certamly was so in this one; the village boys were full as manly and honest, and | certainly purer than those in a nigher rank; and |Tom got more harm fron: his equals in his first fortnight at a private school where he went when ho was nine years old, chan he had from his village friends from the day he left Charity’s apron-strings. Great was the grief amongst the village school- boys when Tom drove off with the Squire, one August morning to meet the coach on his way to school. Each of them had given him some little present of the best that he had, and his small private box was full of peg-tops, Wuite marbies —called “alley-taws” in tbe Vale,—screws, birds’ eggs, whip-cord, jews’-harps, and other misceila- neous boys’ wealth. Poor 5 acob Doodle-calf, in floods of tears, had pressed upon him,in splutter- jing earnestness, his lame pet hedgehog,—be had )always some broken down beast or bird by him; —but this Tom nad been obliged to refuse by the Squire’s order. He had given them alla great tea under the big elmin their playground, for which Madam Brown had supplied the biggest cake ever seenin our village; and Tom was real- y as sorry to leave them as they to lose him, but his sorrow Was not unmixed with the pride and excitement of making a new step ino life. And this feeling carried him through his first |pariing with his mother better than could haye beenexpected. Their love was as fair and whole as human love cun be, perfect self-sacrifice on the }one side, meeting a young and true heart on the other. It is not Within the scope of my book, however, to speak of family relations, or I shouid ‘have much to say on the subject of English moth- jers—aye, and of English fathers, and sisters, and ‘prothers, too, —— Neither have Iroom to speak of our private schools: waat I have to_say_is about public schools, those muoh-ahbused and much-belauded institutions peculiar to England. So we must hurry through Master Tom’s year at a,;private school as fast as We can. It was a fair average specimen, kept by a gen- tleman, with another gentleman as second master ; butit was little enough of the real work they aid —merely coming into school when lessons were prepared and all ready to be heard. The whole discipline of the school out of lesson hours was in the hands of the two ushers, oye of whom was always with the boys im their pl%yground, in the school, at meals—in fact, at all times and every- where, till they were fairly in bed at night. Now the theory ot private schools is (or was) constant supervision out of school; therein differ- ing fundamentally from that of public schools, It may be right or wrong; but if right, this supervision surely ought to be the especial work of the head-master, the responsible person. Tie object of all achools is not to ram Latin and Greek into boys, but to make them good English boys, good future citizens; and by fur the most important part of that work must be done, or not done, out of school hours. To leave if, therefore, in the hands of inferior men, is just giving up the highest and hardest part of the work of educa- tion. Were I a private schoolmaster, I should say, lef who will hear the boys their lessons, but let moe live with them when they are at play and rest. The two ushers at Tom’s first school were not gentlemen and were very poorly educated, and were only driving their poor trade of usher to get such living as they could out of it. They were not bad men, but had litcle heart for their work, and, of course, were bent on making it as easy as possible. One of the methods by which they cn- deavored to accomplish this was by encouraging tale-bearing, which had becomo a frightiully com- mon Vice in the school in consequence, and had sapped all the foundations of s¢hvol moraliby. Another was, by favoring grossly the biggest boys, who alone could have given them much trouble; whereby those youug gentlemen becate mos6 abominable tyrants, oppressing the little boysin all the small, mean ways which prevail in private schools, Poor little Tom was made dreadfully unhappy in his first week, by a@ catastrophe which hap pened to his first etter home. With huge la bor he had, on the very evening of his arrival, managed to fill two siles of a sheet of letter paper with the assurances of his lovefor dear mamma, his happiness af school, and his resolves to do allshe would wish. This missive, with the ;¢ heip of the boy who sat af the desk next him, also” anew arrival, he managed todold successiully: but this done, they were sadly put to it for means of sealing. Envelopes were then unknown, they had no Wax,and dared not disturb the stillness of the evening school-room by getung up and going to the usher for some, At length, Tom’s friend being of an ingenious turn ef wiad, suggested sealing with ink, and the letter was accordingly stuck down witha bioo of ink, and duly handed by Tom, on his way to bed, to the housekeeper to beposted. Itwas not till four days afierwuards that the the good dame sent for him, and produced the precious ietier and some Wax, saying, “ Ob, Master Brown, I forgot to tell you before, but your letter isn’s sealed.” Poor Toin took the wax in silence and sealed his letter, with a huge lump tising in his throat during the process, und then ran away to a quietcorner of the playground, and burst into an agony ot tears. Tue idea of his motuer waiting day after day for the letter he had promised her at once, and perhaps thinking him forgetful of her, when he had dono allin his power to make good his promise, was as bitter a grief as any which ha nae. to undergo for many a long year. His wrath thea was proportionately violent when he was aware of two boys, who stopped close by him, and one of whom, a fat gaby of a fellow, pointed at him and called him “Young maunmy-sick!” Whereupon Tom arose, aud giving vent thus to his grief and rage, smote his derider on the nose, and made it bleed—which sent that young worthy howling to the usher, who reported Tom for violent «ad unprovoked assault and battery. Hitting in the face wasa felony punishable with flogging, other hitting only a misdemeanor—a dist aetion 106 altogether clear in principle. Tom, however, escaped the penalty by pleading “ primum tempus; *’ and hay- ing written asecond letter to his mother, inclos- ing some lorget-me-nots, which he picked on their first half-holiday walk, felt quite happy again, and began to enjoy vastly a good deal of his new life. These half-holiday walks were the great events of the week. The whole fifty boys started after dinner with one of the ushers for Hazaldown, which was distant some mile or so from the school. Hazeldown measured some three miles round, and in the neighborhood were severa: woods full of all manner of birds and butterflies. Tue usher walked slowly round the down with such boys as hked to accompany him; the rest seattered in all directions being only bound to appear again when the usher had completed his round, and accompany him home. They were forbidden, however, to go anywhere except on the down and into the woods; the village had been especially prohibited, where huge bulls’-eyes
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TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS. and unctuous toffee might be procured in ex- ehange for coin of the realm. Various were the amusements to which the boys then betook themselves. At tho entrance of the down there was asteep hillock, like the barrows of Tom’s own downs. This mound was the weekly scene of terrific combats, at a game called by the queer’_name of “ mud-patiies.” The boys who played divided into sides under different leaders, and one side oecupied the mound. Then all parties having provided them- selves with many sods of turf, cut with their bread-and-cheese knives, the side which remain- ed at the bottom proceeded to assault the mound, advancing up on all sides under cover of & heavy fire of turfs, and then struggling for victory with the occupants, which was theirs as soon as they could, even for a momont, clear the summit, when they in turn became the besieged. It was a good rough dirty game, and of great use in counteracting the sneuking tendencies of the school. Then others of the boys spread over the downs, looking for the holes of humble-bees and mice, which they dug up without mercy, often (I regret to say) killing and skinning the unlucky mice, and (I do not regret to say) getting well stung by the hu:ble-bees. Others went after butterflies and birds’-eges in their season; and Tom found on Hazeldown, for the first time, the beautiful little blue butterfly with golden spots on its wings, which he had neverseen onhis own downs, and,dug out his first sand-martin’snest. This latter achieve mentresulted ina flogging, for the sand-martins built in a high bank elose to the Village, consequently out of bonnds; but one of the boMer spirits of the school. who never could be happy unless ho was doing something to which risk attached, easily persuaded Tom to break bounds and visit the martin’s bank, From wheuce it being only a step to tho toffee shop, what could be more simplo than to go on there and fill their pockets? or what more certain than that on their return, @ distribution of treasure having been made, the usher should shortly detect the forbid- den sme!}l cf bull’s-eyes, and, a search ensuing, discover the state of the breeches-pockets of Tom and his ally ? This ally of Tom’s was indeeda desperate heroe in the sight of the boys, and feared as one who dealt in magic, orsomething approaching thereto, which reputation came to him in this wise. The boys went to bed at eight, and of course conse- queptly lay awake in the dark for an hour ortwo, telling ghost stories by turns, One night whenit game to his turn, and he had dried up their souls by hia story, he suddenly declared that he would make a fiery hand appear on tho door; and, to the .ustonishment and terror of the boysin his room a hand, qr something like it, in pale light, did then and there appear. Ths famo of this exploit having spread to the otler rooms, and being dis- oredited there, tho youtbg necromancer declared that thesame wonder would appear in all the rooms in turn, which it accordingly did, and tho whole circumstance haying been privately re- ported to one of the ushers as usual, that func- tionary, after hstening about at the doors of the rooms, by a sudden descent, caught the performer in his night-shirt, with a box of phosphorus in his guilty hand. Luetfer-matehes and all the present facilities for getting acquainted with fire were then unknown; the very name of phosphor- us had something diabolic in it tov the boy-mind; so Tom’s ally, at the cost of a sound flogging, earned what many older folks covet much—the very decided fear of most of his companions, He was @ remarkable boy, and by no means a badone. Tom stuck to him till be left, aud got into many scrapes by so doing. But he was the great opponent of the tale-bearing habits of the school, and tho open enemies of the ushers; and so worthy of all support, Tom imbibed a tair amount of Latin and Greek at the school, but somehow on the whole it didn’t suit him, or he it, and in the holidays he was con- stanitly working the Squire te send him at once to a publie school, Great was his joy, then, when in the middle of his third half-year, in October 283—,a fevef broke out in the Village; and the master having himself slightly sickened ot it, the whote of the boys were sent off at a day’s notice to their respective homes. The Squire was not so pleased as Master Tom to see that young gentleman’s brown merry face ap- pear at home, some two months be!ore the proper time, for the Christmas holidays; and so, after putting on his thinking cap, he retired to his study and wrote several letters, the result of which was, that one morning at the breakfast- table, about a fortnight after Tom’s return, he addressed his wife with—‘‘ My dear, I have ar- ranged that Tom shall go to Rugby at once, for the last six weeks of this half-year, instead of wasting them, riding and loitering about home. It is very kinu of the Doctor toallow it. Will you see that his things are all ready by Friday, when shall take him up to town, and send him down the next day by himself!” Mrs. Brown was prepared for the announce- ment, and merely suggested a doubt whether Tom were yet old enough to travel by himself. However, finding both father and son against her on this point, she gave 1n like a wise woman, and proceedéd to prepare Tom’s kit for his launch in- _to a public school, CHAPTER IY. ¥ “Now, sir, time to get up, it you please. Tally- ‘ a ho coach for Leicester’il be round in half an hour, | jand don’t waitfor nobody.” Sospake the Boots of the Peacock Inn, Islington, at half-past two) o’clock on the morning of a day in the early part of November, 1883—, giving Tom at the same time a shake by tho shoulder, and then putting down a candle anil carrying o:f his shoes toclean. Tom and bis father arrived in town from Berk-| shire the day before, and finding, on enqairy, that | the Birmingham coaches which ran from the city | did not pass through Rugby, but deposited their) passengers at Duuchureb, a villags three miles, distant on the main road, where said passengers had to wait for the Oxford and Leivester-conch in the evening, or to take a post-chaise—had re-| solved that Tom shoul travel down by the Tally- ho, which diverge from the main road and pass- ed through Rugby itself, And as the Tally-ho was an early coach, theyhad driven out to the Peacock to be on the road, = Tum had never been in London, and would have | liked to have stopped at the Belle Sayage, where | they had been put down by the Star, just at dusk, that he might have gone roving ubout those end- less, mysterious gas-lit streets, which, with their glareand hum and moving crowds, excited him | Sothat he couldn’t talk even. But as soon as he! found that the Peacock arrangement would get) him to Rugby by twelve o’clock in the day, where- as Otherwise he wouldn’t bethero till the evening, all other plans melted away; his one absorbing aim being to become a public-school boy asfastas possible, and six hours sooner or later seeming to tun. of the most alarming importance, fom and his favher had alighted at the Peacock, at about seven in the evening; and having heard with unfeigned joy the paternal order at the bar, of steaks and oyster-sauce for supper in half an hour, and seen his tather seate cosily by the} brigit fire iu the coffee-room with the paper in his hand—Tom had run out to see about him, had! wondered at all tho vehicles passing and repass- ing, and had fraternized with the buots and host- ler, from whom he ascertained that the Tally-ho Wasa Up-top goer, ten miles an hour including stoppages, and so punctual that all the road set their ciocks by her. Then being summoned to supper, he had re- galed himself in one of the bright little boxes of the Peacock coffoe-room, on the veefsteak and un- limited oyster-sauce, and brown stout (tasted then for tho first time—a day to bo marked torever by ‘Lom with a wuite atone); had at first attended to tho excellent advice which his father was be- stowing on him from over his glass of steaming brandy and water, and then begun nodding, from the united effects of the stour, the fire,and the lecture. Tillthe Squire observing 'fom’s state, and remembering that if was near nino o’¢lock, and that the Taliy-ho left at three, sent the little fel- low off to the chamber-maii, with a shake of the hand (Tom having stipulated in tha morning be- fore starting that kissing should now cease be- tween them) anda few parting words, “And now, Tom, my boy,” said the Squire, “remember you are going, at your own earnest | request, to be chucked into this great schoo, like | a young bear, with all your troubles before you— earlier than we should have seut you perhaps. If schools are what they were in my time, you'll see a great many cruel blackguard things done, aud hear a deul of foul bad talk. But never fear. You tell the truth, keep a brave heart,and never listen to or say avy thing you wouldn’t have your mother and sister hear, aud you'll never feel ashamed to come home, or we toscé you.” ‘Theo allusion to his mother made Tom feel rather chokey, and he would have liked to have hugged his father well,if it hadn’t been for the recent stipulation. ae was, he only squeezed his father’s hand,| and looked bravely up and nea Pll try, father.” Bd a! you will, my boy. Is your money all, “Yes,” said ‘Tom, divi | age Saxe. ’ ng into one pocket to “And your keys ?” said the Squire. ae right,” said Tom, diving into another eKe©r, “Well then, good-night. God bless y , Boots to call you, and be up to see vou ee. Tom was carrled off by the chambermaid in a) brown study, from which he was roused in a clean. little attic, by that buxom person calling him a little darling, and kissing him assho left the room: | which indignity he was too much surprised to) resent. And sill thinking of his father’s last! words, and the look with which they were spoken, | he knelt down and prayed that,come what might, he might never bring shame or sorrow on the dear folk at home. Indeed, the Squire’s last words deserved to have their effect, for they had been the result of much anxious thought. All the way up to London he! had pondered what he should say to Tom by way | of parting advice; something that the boy could keep in his head ready tor use, By way of assist- ing meditation,be had even gone the length of taking out his flint and steel, and tinder, and hammering away for a quarter of an hour till he} had manufactured a light for along Trichinopoli | cheroot, which he silently puffed; to the no small wonder of Coachee, who was an ola friend, and an} institution on the Bathroad; and who always ex- pected a ta!k on the prospects and doings, agricul- tural and social, of the whole couaty when he earried the Squire. To condense the Sguire’s meditation, tt was | more does his mother. | hadits pleasure—the old dark ride. | Was the consciousness of silent endurance, so dear , to every Kaglishman—standiny out against some- somewhat asfollows: ‘I won't tell him to read his Bible, and love and serve God; if hv don’t do that for bis mother’s sake and teaching, h» won’t formine. ShallI gointo the sortof temptations he’il meet with? No,Ican’t do that. ever do for an ol 1 fellow to gointo such things with a bor. Ho won’t understand me, Do him more harm than good, tentoone. ShallIte}l himto mind his work, and say he’s sent to schoolto make himself a good scholar? Well, but he isn’t sent to school tor that —at any rate not for that mainly. LIdon’t carea straw for Greek particles, or the digamima; no What is he sent to achool tor? Well, partly becausa he wanted to go. If he’ll_ only turn out a brave, helpful, truth-telling Enelishmap, and a gentleman, and a Caristian, thav’s all I want,” thought the Squire; and upon this view of the case he framed his last words of advice to Tom, which were well enough suited to his purpose, For they were Tom’s first thoughts as ho tumbled out of bed at the summons of Boots, an’ proceeded rapidly to wash and dress himself. As ten minutes to three he was down in the coffee- room in his stookings, carrying his hat-box, cori, and comforterin bis hand; and there he found his father nursing a bright fire, and a cup of bot cuffs. and a hard biscuit on the table. “Now then, Tom, give us your things here, and drink this; there’s nothing like starting warm, olil fellow.” Tom addressed himself to the coffee, and prat- tled away while he worked himself into his shoes and his great coat, well warmed through; a Peter- sham coat with velvet collar, mado ticht atoer the abominable fashion of those days, Aud just as he is swallowing his last mouthful, winding his com- forter round his throat, and tucking the ends into the breast of his cvat, the horn sounds, Boots looks in and says, ‘ Tally ho, sir;” and they hear the ring and tho rattle of the four fast trotters and the town-made drag, as 16 dashes up to the Peacock, “ Any thing for us, Bob?” says the buriy guard, dropping down from behind, and slappmmg himself across the chest, “Youvg gen’lm’n, Rugby; three parcels. Lei- Seared s hamper o’ gime, Rugby,” answers Hos- tler. “Tell young gent to Jook alive,” says Guard, opening the hind-boot and shooting in the parcels after examining them by the lamps. ‘‘ Hore, shove the portmanteau up a-top—!’ll fasten him pre- sently. Now then, sir, jump up behind.” “Good-bye, father—my love athome.” A last shake of the band. p goes Tom, the guard eatching his hat-box anid hulding on with ors hand, while with tho other ho claps tho horn to his mouth. Toot, toot, toot! the hostlers let go their heads, the four bays plunge at the collar, and away goes the Tally-ho into the darkness, forty-tive seconds from the time they pulled up: Hositler, Boots, and the Squire stand looking after them under the Peaeock lamp. “ Sharp work,” says the Squire, and goesin again 2 his bed, the coach being weil out of sight and earings, Tom stands up on the coach and leoky back at his futaoer’s figure as long as ho can seo it, and then tho guard having disposed of his luggxage vomes to an anchor, and finishes his buttouings and other preparations for facing the three hours before dawn; no joke for those who minéed cold, on a fast coach in November, in tha reign of his late majesty. Lsometimes think that you boys of this gen- eration are a deal tenderer fellows than we used tobe, Atany rate you are mnch more comfork ablo travellers, for [ seo every one of you with his rug or plaid, and other douges for preserving the caloric, antLmost of you goingin these fuzzy, dusty, padded first-class carriages. Ib was au- other athur altogether, a dark ride on the top ot the Tally-bo, I caa tell you, ina tigut Petorshan coat, and your fect dangling six inches from the floor. Then youknew what celd was, anid what it was to be without legs, lor nota bit of feeling had you in them after the first half-hour. Bub it First there thing, and not giving in. Then there was the music of tho rattling harness, and the ring of the horses’ tevt on the hard road, ani the glare of the two brigiat lamps through tho steaming hour- frost, over the leaders’ ears, into the darkness; and tho cueery toot of the guard’s horn, to warn some drowsy pike-man or hostler at the nex: change; and the looxing forward to daylight— and lust, but nos least, the delight of returning sensation in your toes. . Theu the break of dawn and sunrise, whero can they be ever seen in perfection but from a coach root? You want motion and change and music tu seo them in their glory; not the music of sing: ng-men and singing-women, but good silent music, which sets itself in your own head, the ote eee of work and getting over the © ground, : _ Too Tally-ho is past St. Alban’s, and Tom is en- joyimg the ride though halt frozen. Tue guard, who 1s alone witu him on the back of the coach, is silent, but has muffled Tom’s teet up in straw, and pus the end of au oat sack over his Kuees. Tho darkness nas driven bim loward, and he bas gone over his little past life, and thought of ail nis doings aud pronaises, and of bis mother and sister, and his father’s last words; and has inade fifty good reso‘utions, and means to bear himself
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. 408 lead Waiter out or his own TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS. like a brave Brown as he is, though a young one. Then he has been forward into the mysterious boy- future, speculating as to what sort of a place Rug- by is, and what they do there, and calling up all the stories of public schools which he has heard) from big boys in the holidays, He is chock full of hope and life, notwithstanding the cold, and kicks his heels against the backboard, and would like to sing, only he doesn’t kuow how his friend the silent guard might take it, And now the duwn breaks at the end of the fourth stage, and the coach pulls up at a little road-side iun with huge stables behind. There is a bright fire gleaminy through the red curtains of the bar-window, and the dooris open. The coach- man catches his whip iuto a double one. and throws it to the hostier; the steam of the horses ‘rises straight up into the air, He has put them along over the last two miles, aud is two minutes before his time; hie rolls duwn from his box and into the inn. The guard rolls off from behind. “Now sir,” says he to Tom, “you just jump down, and Vil give you w drop of something to keep the cold eur.” Tow tiuds a difficulty in jumping, or indeed in finding the top of the wheel with his feet, whivu may bein the next world for all he feels; so the cuard picks him off the coach-top, and sets him on his legs, and they stup off into the har, und join the coachiman and tie other outside passeugers. Here a fresh-looking barmaid serves them each | with a glass of early purl as they stand before the | fire, Coachman and guard exchanging business remarks. The purl warms the cockles or Tom's | heart, and mukes him cough. © Rare taekle, that, sir, ofa cold morning," says tho couchiwan, swiliug; “Tite's up.” Tey are out ugain and up; couchee the last, gathering tue yeivs into his hands and talking to Jem the hostler about the mure’s shoulder, and then swinging himself up on tothe box—the horses dashiug off in a canter before he falls into his seat. Toot-toot- tootle-t0o0 goes the born, and away they «are again, five-and-thiroy miles on their road (nearly hulf way to Rugoy, thinks Tom), and tas prospect ul breukflast ab the end of the stage. And now they begin to sev, und the early life of the country side comes out: a market cart ortwo, men in smock-irocks going to their work pipe in | mouth a waoiff of wiich is no bud swell this | igghtimorning. The sua gets up,and the mist slines like silver guuze. Tuey pass the hounds jovging along to a distant meet, at the heels of the Lunismas’s hack, wuvse face is about the color of the tulls of his old pink, as he exchanges greetings with coachman and guard. Now they pull up at a lodge, and take on board a well-muffled-up gsporrsman, with bis gun-case and carpet-bag. Au _early-up coach meels them, aud the coacumen gather up tueir horses and pass ove another with the accustomed lift ot the elbow, cach team-man dving eleven miles av hour, witn a mile to spare bellind1Z necessary. Aud here comes breakfast. “'Dwenty minutes here, gentlemen,” says the coachwan, as they pull up at half-past seven at the inn-dvor. Have we not endured nobly this morning, and ts not this a worthy reward tor much endurance ? There is the low, durk, wainscoted room hung with sporting privts; the hat-stand (with a whip or two standing up init belonging to bagmen who are siill snug in beu) by the door; the blazing tire, with tbo quaint old glass over the mantel-picce, in which is stuck alurge card with the lists of the meets forthe week of the county hounds. The table ¢ vered with the whilest of cloths and or chiuva, .ad bearing a pigeon- pie, ham, round ofcold dolled beef cut from a mammoth ox, and the great loaf of housebold bread on a wouden trencher. Aud here comes in the stout head waiter, pulling under a tray of hot viands; kidneysanud a steak transparent rashers-and poached eggs, buttered toust and muffins, coffee aud tea, all smoking hot, The table can never holdis all; the cold meatsare removed to the sideboard, tuey were only puton for show and to give us an appetite. And now tallon, gentlemen all. Itis a well-known sport- ing-uouse, and thy breakfasts are famous, Two or turee men in pink, on their way to the meet, drop in, = are very jovial and sharp-set, as in- deed we all are. “Tea, or coflee, sir?” says head waiter, coming round to ‘fom. “Coffee, please,” says Tom, with his mouth full of muflin and kidney; coffee is a treat to him, tea is aot. * Our coachman, I perceive, who breakfasts with us, is a cold-beef man. He also eschews hot po- tutions, and addicts himself to a tavkard of ale, Which is brougnt him by the barmaid. Sports- bees looks on approvingly and orders a ditto for imselt. é . Yom has eaten kidney and pigeon pie, and im- bibed eotfee, till, his little skin is as tight asa drum; and then has the further pleasure uf pay- urse, li a digui- licl Maunexr, and wuiks out before the inn door, 10 see the horses put to. This is done leisurely and iu a wighly tinisied manner by tho hostlers, asif wey cujoyed tue uot being hurried, Coach- wan comes out with bis way-vill and pufiiog @ jat cigar which the sportsman has given im. Guard emerges from the tap, where le prefers breakfasting, licking round a tougi-looking, uoubliul Cheroot, Which you tight tie round four finger, wud three wuifls of which would - &noeck any oue else out of time. _ The pinks stand abeut the inn-door, lighting jsurely. Tuey howilsall down theline fi¢to frighten cigars and waiting to see us start, while their hacks are led up and down the marker-place on which the inn looks. They all know our sports- man, and we feel a reflected credit when we see him chatting and laughing with them. “Now, sit, please,” says the coachman. All the rest of the passengers are up; the guard is lock- ing up the hind boot. * “A good run to you!” says the sportsman to the pinks, and is by the coachman’s side in no} time. “Let ’em go, Dick!” The hostlers fly back, drawiog off tne cloths from their glossy loins, | and uWay we go through the market-place and down through the High Street, looking in at the |first floor windows, and seeing several worthy burgesses shaying thereat; while all the shop-| boys who are cleaning the windows, and house- muids woo are doing the steps, stop and look pleased us we rattle past, as if we were a part of their legitimate morning’s amusement. We clear, the town and are well out between the hedge- | rows again as the town clock strikes eight. The sun shines almost warmly, and breakfast | has oiled all springs and Joosened all tongues. Tom is encouraged by @® remark ortwoof the guurd’s, between the puffs of his oily cheroot,and | besides is getting tired of nottalking. He is too \fullof his destination to talk about anything | else; aud so asks the guard if he knows Rug- iy, iy: “Goes through it every day of my life. Twen- ty minutes atore twelve down—ten o’clock up.” “What sort of placo is il, please ?” says Tom. Guard looks at him with a comical expression, “Werry ou‘-u’-the way plaice, sir; no paving to |streets, nor no lighting. ’Mazin’ big horse and catile fair in aulumn—lasts a week—just Over) uow. Tukes town a week to get clean after it. Pairieh huating country. But slow place, sir,| |slov place; oif (he main road, you see—only three jeouches @ d.y, and one on ’em a two-0s3 wan, ‘more Itke a hearse nora couch—Regulator—comes | {rrom Oxford. Young genl’m’a at school calls her) 'Pig aud Whistle, anu goes up to college by her \(six miles an hour) wuen they goes to enter, | Belong to scuool, sir?” “Yes,” says Yom, not unwilling for a moment that the guard should think him an old boy; but) then, baylug some qualms as to the truth of the assertion, and sceing that if he were to assume the character of an old boy he couldn’t go on asking the questions he wanted, added—* tbat is to suy, ’monu my way there. I’m a new boy.” The guard looked as if he knew this quite as) well as Tom. *“ You’re werry late, sir,” says the guard; “only six weeks to day to the end of the half.” Tom assented. We takes up five loads this = six weeks, and Monday and ‘Tuesday arter. opes we shall pave the pleasure of carrying you buck.” Tom said he hoped they would; but Le thought | within himself that his fate would probably be the | Pig and Whistle. “It pays uncommon cert’nly,” continues! the guard. ‘*Werry free with their cash is the young genl’m’n, But, Lor’ bless you, we gets into such rows all ‘long the road, what wl’ their pea-shoot- ers, and lovg whips, and hollering, and upsetting }every one as comes. by; I'd a sigut sooner carry | oue or two on ’em, sir, as I may be & Ccarryin’ of you now, than a coach-load.” “What do they do with the pea-shooters?” inquires Tom. “Do wl em! why, peppers every one’s faces as we comes néar, ’cept tue young gals, and breaks windows wi’ them too, some on’em shouts so hard. Now ’twasjust here last June, as we was a driving up the first-day boys, they was mendin’ a quarter- mile of read, and there was a@ lot of Irish chaps, reg’lar roughs, a breaking stones, As we comes up. ‘Now, boys,’ says young gent on the box (smart youug fellow, and désper’6 reckless), here’s fun!.Jet the Pats have it about the ears.’ *‘God’s sake, sir, says Bob (that’s my mate the coachman), ‘dou’t go for to shoot at ’em, they’ll knock us off the cuach.’ * Damme, Choachee,’ says oung my lord, ‘you ain’t afraid; hoora, boys! tet ’em have it” ‘Hoora!’ sings out the others, | and fiil their mouths chuck full of peas to last the} whole line. Bob, seeing us ’twas to cume, kuocks his hat over his eyes, hollers to his ’osses, and shakes ’em up, and the way we goes up to_the line on ’em, twenty miles an hour. The Pats begin to hoora too, thinking it was a runaway, and first lot on ’em stands grinnin’ and wavin’ their old hats as we cowes abreaston ’em; and) then you'd ha’ laughed to see bow took aback and choking savage they looked when they gets the peas a stinging ull over ’em. But biess you, the laugh weren’t all of our side, sir, by a loug way. We was going s0 fast,uud they wasso touk aback, that they didn’t take what was up till we was half-way up the line. Then ’twas ‘Look out onl | you, some on ’em ruus arter us and tries to clam-| ber* up behind, ouly we hits ’em over the flogers | and pulls their hands off; one as had had it very | 'sharp actly runsright at tne leaders, as thougn | ue’d ketch ’em by the heads, only luck’ly for him) he misses his tip and comes over a heap o’ stones | first. The et picks up stones, and gives it us l1ight awa ill we gets out of shot, tue young) |geuts holding out werry manful with the pea-| shooters aad such stones as lodged ou us, and a pretty many there was too. Then Bob picks his- ‘self up again, and looks at young gent on box werry solemn, Bok’a had!) rum unin the ribs, which’d like to ha’ knocked him off the box. or made him drop tie reins, Young gent on box picks hisself up, nud so does we all, and looks round to count damage, Box’s head cut open and Lis hat gone; nother young gent’s hat gone ; mine knocked in atthe side, and not one on us as wasn’t black and blue somewheres or another,. most on’em all over. Two pound ten to pay for damages to paint, which they subscribed for thece and then, aud give Bob and me a extra half- | sovereign each; but L wouldn’t go down that line again not for tweuty halt-sovereigns.” And the guard shook his head slowly, and got up and blew a clear brisk 100t-toot. «What fun!” said Tom, who couldscarcely con— tain his pride at this exploit of his future school- fellows. He longed already for the end of the half that he might join them. . “Tain’t such good tun though, sir, for the folk as meets the coach, nor for we who has to go back with itnextday. TaemIrisherslast summer had all got stones ready for us, and was all but let- ting drive, and we’d got two reverend gents aboard too. We pulledup at the beginning of the line, and pacified them, and we’re never going to curry LO more pea-shooters, unless they promises not to fire where there’s a line of Irish chaps a stone-breaking.” The guard stopped and pulled away at his cneroot, regarding Tom beniguantly the while, “Oh, don’t stop! the pea-shooting.” “Well, there’d like to havo been a pretty piece of work cver it at Bicester, a while back. Wewas six mile from the town, wien we meets an old square-headed, gray-haired yeoman chap, a jog- ging along quite quiet. Helooks upat the couca, und just then @ pea hits him on the nose, und some catches his cob benind and makes him (ance up on his hind legs. E see’d the o!d boy’s lace tellus something more about ' flush and look plaguy awkward, and Ithougut we was in for somethiu’ nasty. “ He turns liis cob’s head, and rides quietly after us just out of shot. How that ere cob did step! we never shook him off not a dozen yards inthe six miles, At first the young gents was werry lively on him; but afore we got in, seeing how steucy the vldcbapcome on, they was quite quiet, apd laid their heads together what they should de. Some was for fighting, sume for axing his pardon. He rides into ile town Close alter us, Comes up when We stops, and says the two as shotat him must come beforea magistrate; anda great crowd comes round, and we couldn’6 get the osses to. But the young uns they all stan‘ by one another and says allor none must go,uud as how they’ fight it out,and have to becarried, Just as’twas gettin’ serious, and the old boy and the mob was going to pull’em off the co ch, oné little felluw jan ps up and says, ‘ Here—I’1l stay—I’m only gv- ng three milesfarther. My father’s name’s Davis, he’s Known about here, and J’ll go before the magistrate with thisgentleman’ ‘What! betheo parson Divis’s son? suys theold boy. ‘Yes,’ says the yourguu. ‘Well,Il be mortal sorry to meet thee in such company, but for thy tather’s sake. and thine (for thee bi’st_a brave young chap) I'll say Do more aboutit.’ Didn’tibe boys cheer him, aud the mob cheered the young chap—and then one of the biggest gets down and bezs his pardon werry gentlemanly for all the rest, suyingas they all had been plaguy vexed frum the first, bub didn’t like to ax bis pardon till then, ’cause they felt they badn’t ought toshirk the cousequences of theirjoke. And then they all got down, audshook hands with che old boy, and asked him to all parts. of the country, to their homes, and we drives off twenty minutes bebind time, wilh cheering and nollering as if we was county members. But, Lor’ bless you, sir,” says the guard, smacking his hand down on his knee and looking full into Tom’s face, “ten minutes arier wey was allas bad as ever.” Tom showed such undisguised and open-mouth- edinterestin his nurrations, that the old guard rubbed up his memory, and jaunched out 1uto w graphic history of all the performances of ths boys on the roads for the last twenty years, OF the road he could not go; the exploit must have been connected with horses or vehicles to hung in the old fellow’s head. Tom tried him off his own ground once or twice, but found he knew nothing beyond, and solet Lim have his head, und the rest of the road bowled easily away;tor old Blow-hard, (as the boys called him) wus a dry old tile, with much kindness and huiwor, aud a, capital splaner of a yarn when he had broken the neck — day’s work, and got plenty of ule under his elt. What struck Tom’s youthful imagination most, was the desperate and lawless character of most of the stories. Was the guard hoaxing him? Ho couldn’t help, hoping that they were true. It’s very odd how almost all English boys love dan- ger; youcan get ten to join a game,or climba tree, or Swim a stream, When there’s a chence of breaking tueir limbs or getuing drowned, for one who’il stay onleyel ground, or in his depth, or play quoits or bowls. The guard had just finished an account of a desperate tight which bad ba spenes ut one of the. fairs between the drovers and the farwers with. their whips, and the boys with cricket-bats and. | wiekets, Which arose oul ofu playtul out objec- tionable practice of the boys goimg round to the peste and taking the linch-pins out of tha wheels of the gigs, and was moralizing upon the way in which the Doctor, ‘‘a terrible stern man _
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10 TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS. —« he’d heard tell,” had come down upon several | of the performers, “sending three on ’vm off next) morning, each in @ po-vhay with a parish ¢on- stable,” when they turned acornerand reared ite milestone, the third from Rugby. By the stone two boys stood, theirjackets buttoned tiguat, wait- ing for the coach. : “Look here, sir,” says the guard, after giving ‘@ sharp toot-toot, “ there’s two,on’em, out and -out runners théy be. Taey comes out about 4 lwice or three times a week, and spirtsa mile salungside of us.” 3 And as they came up, sure enough, away went two boys along the jootpath, keeping up with the horses; the first a light, cleau-made fellow yoin on springs, the other stout and round-shouldered, daboring in his pace, but going as dogged as a bull- Aerrier. Old Blow-hard lookedonadmiringly. “Sse how ‘beautiful that ticre un holds hisself together, and goes from his hips, sir,” said he; “he’s a’mazin’ dine ruuner. Now many coucumen as drives a first-rate teai’d put it on, and try and pass ’em,| ‘But Bob, sir, biess you, he’s vender-learted; he'd) sooner pullin a bivit he see’d’em gettin’ beat. I do b’iieve too as that there un’d soouer breait his heart than let us go by him afore next milestone.” At the second milestone the boys puued up short, and waved their hats to the guard, who hat his waceh out and shouted 4,56,” tuereby indicat- ing thatthe mile had been done in four seconds under the five minutes; Tuey passed several more partios of boys, all of them objects of the deepest interesé to Tuw, und came in sight of the town at ten minuces before twelye, Tom fecebed a ‘ong breath, and thougut he had never spent @ pieis- anter day. Before he went to bed he had quite settled thut it must be the greatest day he should ever spend, and didn’t alter his opinion for many along year—if he has yet. CHAPTER Y. ¢ RUGBY AND FOOTBALL, « And so here’s Rugby, sir, at last, and you'll be in plenty of time fer dinner at the School-house, as Ttell’d you,” said the ola guard, pulling his horn out of its case, and tootle-toviog away; while the coachman sLook up his horses,aud carried them aloug the side of the school close, round Deadman’s corner, past the school gates, and down the High Street vo the Spread Eagle; the wheelers ina spanking trot, aud leaders canterivg,in a style which would not have disgraced *Cuerry Bou,” + anping, stamping, tearing, swearing Buly Har- . wood,” or any other of the old coacning heroes = ‘Pom’s heart beat quick as he passed the great * echool field or Close, with its noble elins, in which ' geveral gumes at football were going on, and tried * 40 take 1m at Once Lhe long line of gray buildings, beginning wish the chapel,and euding with the Scuvool-house, the residence of the head-imaster, where the great flag was lazily waving from the highest round tower. And he begun already to be proud of being a Rusoy boy, as he passed the school gates With the urel-window above. and saw the boys standing there, lookingas if th» towa be- i nyed tothem,and nodding in @ familiar manuer zo the coachman, asif any one of them would be Gxibe equal to getting on the box, and working the team Guwa street as well as he. Oue of the young heroes, however, ran out from the rest, and scrambled up belLjud; Waere, having vighicd himself, and nodded vo tue guard, wita “How do,dem?” and turned short round to Tom, sand, after looking Lim over for a minute, began— “7 say, you fellow, is your nume Brown?” “Yes,” suid Tow, in cunsiderable asiomshiment ; glad, sowever, to have lighted upon some one al- reudy Who seemed to know him. “Ah, I thought 80: you know my old aunt, Miss Bast, sho ives somewaere down your way in Berk- shire. Sue wrote to we that you were coming to- day, and asked me to give you a lift.” Tom Was somewhat inclived toresent the patro- nizing air of his new friend, a boy of just about his own height and age, but gifted with the most trauscoudeat cooluess and assurance, which ‘um felt to be aggravating and hard to bear, but . couldn’é for the tife ot him help admiring and en- vying—sspecially When young my lord begins hec- toring Uwo or three long loating fellows, halt por- ter half stablemav, with a strong touch of the blackguard; and in the end arranges with one of them, aickuamed Cooey, to curry Tom’s luggage to the Svhool-house for sixpez «And leark’ee, Covey, it must be up in ten min utes or uo more jobs from me. Come along, Brown.” And away swaggers the young poten- gate, With is hands iu his pocket, and Lom at his ~ pide. ; “All right, sir,” says Cooey, touching his hat, _Witia leer aad a wink at his companions. * Hello tho’,” says East, pulling up, and taxing anotuer look at Lom, “this'll never do—haven’t you got a hat?—we never wear caps here. Only dhe louts wear caps. Biess you, if you were to go auto the quadranglo with that thing on, I—don’t Acsuow what'd happou.” Toe very idea was quite beyond young M.stcr Eust, and he looked unut- » bevable things, Lom thouyht his cap a very knowing affair, but confessed that he had a hatin his hat-box; which | Was acvordingly at once extracted from the hind | boot, aud Tom quipped in his go-to-meeting roof, “3 Lis new friend culledit. But this didn’t quite suit his fastidious taste in another minute, being “too shiny; so, as they walk up the town, they’ diye into Nixon’s the hatter’s, and Ti m isarrayed, to bis utter astonishment and without paying for it, in a regulation cat-skin at seven-and-sixpence; Nixon undertaking to send the best hat up to the matron’s room, Sehool-house, in half an hour. “You can send in a note fora tile on Monday, and make it all right, you know,” said Mentor; “we're allowed two seven-and-sixers a half be- sides what we brirg from home.” Tom by this time began to be conscious of his new social position &nd dignities, and to luxuriate in the realized ambition of being a public-school boy at last, with a vested right of spoiliag two seven-and-sixers in half a year. *You see,” said his frieud, as they strolled up towards the school-gates, in explanation of his conduct, “a great deul depends on how a fellow cuts up at firse. him, and answers straightforward, and holds his head up, he gets on, torig, ail bug that cap. You see I’m doing the hanusome thing by you, because my father knows yours; besides, I wané to please the oid lady. Sae gave me haif-a-sov tus half, and perhaps’il double it next, if [keep in her gvod books.” There’s noibiug for canaor like @ lower-sehool boy, and Eist was a genuine specimen—frank, heurty, and gvod-uatured, well satisfied with him- self and his po-ition, and chock full of life and spirits, and all tue Rugby prejudices and tradi- tions which he had beeu able tu get togetherin the long course of one half year during wuich he had been at the School-house, And Tom, notwithstanding his bumptiousness, felt friends with him at ouce, and began sucking in all his ways and prejudices, as fast as he could understand them. ‘ East was great in tho character of cicerone; he carried ‘tum through the great gates, where were only two or three boys. These satisfied them- selves with the stock questions—* You fellow what’s youe nam?? Where do you come from How old are you? Waere do you board? and, What form are you in?’—and so they passed on throug the quadrangle aud smail courfyard, upon which lookei down @ lot of little Windows (be- | longing, as his guide informed him, to some of tue Schvol-nouss siu ites), into the matron’s room, where Eust introduced Tom to thatdiguity; maue him give up the key of his truok, that the matron maiguc Uupack his linen, and told the story of the bat and of his own presence of mind: upon the relaniou whoreof the matron laugaingly scolded him, tor the covlest new boy in the house; aud East, indignant at the accusation of newness, | marched Tom off into the quadrangle, and becauu suowWing him the schools, andexamining himasto lis literary attainments; the result of which was a@ prophecy that they would be in the Same form, and 6vuld do their lessons together. * Aud now come in anid sve my study; we shall have just time before dinner; and aiterwards, be- iure Cuiling over, we'll Go the close.” Yom followed his guide through the Sehool- house hall, which opeus into the quadrangle. It is a great room thirty feet long and eighteen high, or thereabouts, with two great tables ruuuiag tue whole length, and two large fire-places uo tue side, with blaziug fires in them, at oue of which some dozen boys were standing and lou.ging, some of whom shouted to Bast to stop; but he shotthrough with his convoy, aud Jauded trim in the long dark passage, With a large fire at the end of each, upon which the studics opened. Iuto one of these, in the bottom passage, East bolted with our hero, | slamming and bolting the door behind them, iu caso of pursuit from the hall, and Tom wastfor the lirst time in a Rugby boy’s citadel. He hadn’t been Baa rae for separate studies, and Was not a little astonished and delighted witn the place in question. Ig wasn’t very large, certainly, being about six feet long by tour broad. It couldn’s be called light, as there Were bars and a grating to the window; Which little precautions were necessary in the studies on the ground floor looking out inco the close, to prevent the exit of small boys atter locking up, and the entrance of contraband arti- cles. Bat 10 Was uncommonly comfortable to look at, Tom thought. ‘Lhe space under the window at the farther end was occupic. by a square table covered With @ reasonably clean and whole red and blue check table-cloth; a hard-seated sofa covered with red souft occupied one side, running up to the end, and muking a seat for one, or, by sitting close, for two, at the table; and a guod stous wooden chair afforded a seat to another boy, so that three couli sit and Work togecher. ‘Pub walls were walnscoted half-way Up, the wain- scot being covered with green balze, We remain- der with a bright-patterned paper, on which hung three or four prints, of dogs’ heads, Grimaldi winning the Aylesbury. steeple-chase, Amy Rob- sart, the reiguing Waverley beauty of the day, and Tom: Crib in a posture of defence, which did hocredit to the science of that hero, if truly re- presented. Over the door was arow of hat-pegs, and on eaeh sides bookcases with cupboards at the bottom; shelves und cupboards being filled indis- criminately with schoolbooks, a cup or two, & mousetrap, and candlesticks, leather straps, a Tus- tian bag, and some curious-looking articles, Which puzzied Tom not alittle, until bis frftnd explained ciias they were elimbing irons, and showed their use. Acricket-bat aud smalt fishing-rod stoodup in one corner. This was the residence of East and another boy in the same form, and had more interest for Tom Tf he’s got nothing oad avout | ow you'll do very well as | than Windsor Castle, or any ocher residence in | the British Isles, For was le not to becoms the joint owner of asi:nilar home, the first place he coulil call his ow: ? Ono’s own—what @ charm there is in the werds? How lomg it takes bey and man to find oat their worth! how fast most of us hold on to them! faster and more jealously, the nearer we are to that general home into which we can take nothing, but must go naked, as We came into the world. When shall we learn that he who multiplieth possession multiplieth tr ubles, and that the one single use of things which we call our own is that they may be lus who bath need of them, Pel shall I have a study like this, too?” suid | Tom. “Yes, of course, you'll be chummed with sony fellow on Monuday,and you can sib here till then.’’ “What nice places!” “They’re wll enough,” answered East patro- ‘nizingly, “only uncommon cold of nights some- \tiwes. Gower—thavs my chum—and I mak) a ‘fire with paper on tho floor after supper generally, ouly that makes if so smoky.” oe at there’s a big firo outin the passage,” said om. : “Precious httle we get out of that tho’,”’ said | East; ‘Jones the praepostor has the study at tuo fire end, and he has rigged up an iron rod and green baiz3 curtain acruss the passage, which he draws at night, and sits tacre with his door open, so he gets.all the fire, and hearsif we come out ot our studies at eigut, or make a noise. However, he’s taken to sitiing fifth-form room lately, so we do get a bit of fire now sometimes; only to keep a sharp look-out that he dou’t catch ygu behind his curtain when he comes down—that’s all.” . A quarter past one now struck, and the bell be- gun tolling for dinner, so they went into the hati and took their places, Tom at the very bottom of the second table, next to the preepostor (who sit. at tbe end to keep order there), and East a few paces higher. And now Tom for the first timo saw his future schoolfellows iu a body. In they ‘came, some hot aud ruddy from football or long walks, some pale and chilly from hard reading in their studies, some from lo: tering over tie fire at the pastrycooks, dainty mortula, bringing with vipat epi and sauce-botiles to help them with their dinuers. Aud a great big-bearded man, whom Tom took for a master, b gan ca'ling over the |names, While the great joints were being rapidly’ ‘carved on the third tuble in the corner by the of yerger and the housekeeper, Tom's turn enme last, and meanwhile he was all eyes, looking firsi’ with awe at the great maa who sat close to him, and was helped first, and who read a hard-look- ing book all the time ho was eating; and when he | got up aad walked off to the fire, at thesmall boys round him, some of whom were reading, and the rest talking in whispers to ons another, or steal- ing One auotuer’s bread, or shooting pellets, or digging their forks through the tablecloth. How- ever, notwithstanding his curiosity, he managed to wake a capital dianer by the time tae big wan called “Stand up! ” aud said grace. As soon as dinner was over, and Tom had been | questioned by such of nis neighbors as were cu- rious as to his birth, parentage, education, anu other like matters, East, who evidently enjoyed his new dignity of patron and Menior, proposed having a look at the close, which Tom, athirst tor | knowledge, gladly assented to, and they went ou, |througu tae quadrangle and pasb the big fives’ | court, into the great playground, “That’s the chapel, you soe,” said East, “ana there just behind it is the piace for figits; you seo it’s most outof the way of the masters, who all live on the other side and don’t come by here after the first lesson orcalling-over, That's when the fights come off. And all the part where we are 4s tae little side ground, right up to the trees, and on tbe other side of the trees is the big side ground, where the great matches are played. And tbere’s the island in the farthest corner; you'll know that well enough next half, when there’s island fagging. LIsay,it’s horrid cold, let's have a ruv across;” and away went Hast, Tom close behind him, East was evidently putting his best foot foremost, and Tom, who was mighty proud of his running, and not @ little anxious to show his friend that although a new boy he was no milksop, laid himself down to work in his very best styl . Rightacross the close they went, each doing ult he knew, and there wasn’t a yard be- tween them when they pulled up at the island- moat, . “T say,” said East, as soon as he got his wind, looiing with much increased respect at ‘ou, “you ain’t a bud scud, uot by no means. Well, Tw as warm as toast now.” “But why do you wear white trowsers in No- vember?” said Tom. Hoe had been struck by (ms peculiarity in the costume ot almogbull tae Scuvol- houss boys. “Why, bless us, don’t you know? No, I forgot, Why, to-day’s the Schoolhouse match. Our houses plays the whole of tue School at football, Aud we all wear white trowsers, to Show “cu we don’t care for backs. You're in luek to como to-day. You just will sce a mateh 5 and Brook’s gemg to letm> play in quarters. That’s more than he'll do for any other lower school-boy, except James, and he’s fourteen.” « Wno’s Brooke?” “Why, that big fellow who called over at dinner, to besure. He's cock of the school, and head of
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the School-house side, and the best kick and charger in Rugby.” : “Oh, but do show me where they play. And tell ms abont 1t. I love football so, and have played all my life. Won’t Brooke let me play?” “Not he,’ said East, with sume indignation ; “why, you don’t know the rules—you’ll be a month learning them. Aud then it’s no joke playing-up in a match, I can tell you. Quite another thing from your private school games. Why, there’s been two collar-bones broken this half, and a dozen fellows lamed. And last year a fellow had his leg broken.” * Tom listened with the profoundest respect to this chapter of accidents, and followed East across the level ground, till they came to a sort of gigantic gallows of two poles eighteen feet high, fixed upright in the ground some fourteen feet apart, with a ecross-bar running from one to the other ut the height of ten feet or there- abouts. : “This is one of our goals,” said East, ‘and you see the other across there, right oppo- site, under the Doctor’s wall. Well, the match is for the best of three goals; whichever side kicks two goals wing; and ib wou’t do, you see, just to kick the ball through these posts, it must go over the cross-bar; any height’ll do, so long as it’s between the posts. YoWll have to stayin goal to touch the ball when it rolls behind the osts, Lecause if tho other side touch it they havea try ut goal. Then we fellows ia quarters, we play just about in front of goal here, and have to turn the ball and kick if back before the big fellows on the other side can followit up. And in front of us all the big fellows play, and that’s where the scrummages are mostly.” Tom’s respe@ increased as ho struggled to make out his friend’s technicalities, and the other sot to work to expluin the mysteries of ‘off your side,” ‘*drop-kicks,” * punts,” “places,” and the other intricacies of tho great science of foot-ball. “Bat how do you keep the ball between tue goals?’ said he; “I can’t see why it migatn’t go sight down to the chapel.” ‘Why, that’s outof play,” answered East. “You woo this gravel-walk running down all wloag this side of tho playing-ground, und the line of elms opposite on the other? Well, they’re the bounds, As soon as tha bali gets past them, it’s in couch, and outof play. Aud then whoever first toucnes it, has to knock it straight out amongst the play- ers-up, Who make two }:nes with a space between them, every fellow going on his own side. Ain’t dnere just fine scruinmages then! and the three drees you see there which Come out into the play, thaws a tremendous place woven the ball hungs there, for you get thrown against the trees, and that’s worse than any hack.” ‘You wondered withiu himself, as they strolled Hack again towards tho fives’ court, whether the matelhes were really such break-neck affairs as Bast represented, and whether, if they were, he should ever get to like them and play-up well. He hadu’t long to wonder, however, for next minute East cried out, “ Hurral! here’s the punt- about—come along and try your hand ata kick.” The punt-uboutis the practice-ball, which is just brought out and kicked about anyhow from one boy lo another before callings-over and dinner, and at other odd times. They joined the boys who brought it out, adl small Schooi-house fellows, driends of East; and Tom had the pleasure of trying his skill,and performed very creditably, after first driving his foot three inches into the ground, and then nearly kicking his leginto the alr, in Vigorous efforis to accomplish a drop-kick after the manner of East. 4 Presehtly more boys and bigger camo out, and boys from other houses on their way to calling- over, and more balls were sent for. The crowd thickened as three o’clock approached; and when the our struck, one hundred and filty boys were hard at work. Then the balls were held, the muster of the week came down in cap aud gown to calling-over, and the whole school of three hun- dred boys swept into the big school to answer to their names. “Tmay s0me in, mayn’t L?” said Tom, catching Bast by the arm and longing to feel one of them. “Yes, come along, uvbody’ll say any thing, You won’t be so eager to get into calling-over after a month,” replied his friend; aud they marebed into the big school together, and up to the farther end, where thut illustrious form, the lower fourth, which ha’ the honor of Hast’s pa- tronage for the time-being, stood, The master Mounted into the high desk by the - door, and one of the preepostors of the week stood by him on the steps, the other three marching up and down the middle of the school with their anes, Calling cut ‘Silence, silence!” The sixth form stood close by the door on the left, some ‘thirty in number, mostly great, big grown men, as Tom thought, surveying them from a distance with awe. The fifth form behind them, twice their number, and not quite so big. These on the Jeft; andon the tigut the lower fifth, shell, and all the junior forms in order; while up the middle marched che three preepostors. Tueu the praspostor who stands by the master @alis out the names, beginning with the sixth dorm: and ashe ecails,each boy answers “here” to his name,and walks out. Some of the sixth stop at the dour to turn the wholo string of boys into the close; itis a great match day, and every boy in the school, wili-he, nill-he, must be there. ‘Lhe rest of the sixth go forward into the close, 1 TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS. tg BES that no one escapes by any of the side gates. \ To-day, however, being the School-house match, none of the School-house preepostors stay by the door to watch fortruants of their side there is carte blanche to the School-house fags to go where they like: “They trust to our honor,” as Hast proudly informs Tom; “ they know very well that no School-house boy would cut the match. If he did, we’d very soon cut hiw, I can tell you.” The master of the week beihg sivrt-sighted, and the preepostors of the week small, aud not well up to their work, the lower-school boys 2m- ploy the ten minutes which elapse betore their names are called,in pelting one another vigor- ously with acorns, whieh fly about in all direc- tions. The small prepostors dash in every now and then, and generally chastise some quiet, timid boy, who is equally afraid of acorns and canes, while the principal performers get dexterously out of the way; and so calling-over rolls on somehow, much like the pig world, panishments lighting on wrong shoulders, and matters going generally in a queer, cross-zrained way, but the end coming somenow, which is after allthe great oint. And now the master of the week has ished, and locked ap the big school; and the praeposiors of the week come out, sweeping the lastremuant of the School fags—who hud been loafing about the corners by the fives’ court, in hopes of a chance of bolting—vefore them into te close. “Hola tho punt-about!’ “To the goals!” are the cries, and all stray balls are impuunded by the authorities ; and the whole mass of boys moves up towards the two goals, dividing as tuey go into three bodies. That little band on the left, consisting of irom fifteen to twenty boys, Tom amongst them, who are making for the goal under the school-house wall, are the School-house boys who are not to play-up, and haye to stay in goal. The larger body moving up to the island goal are the School boysina hke predicament. The great mass in the middle are the players-up, both sides mingled together; they are hanging their jackets, and all who mean real work, tucir hats, waist- vouts, neck-handkerchiefs and braces, on the rail- ings round the small trees; and there they go by twos and threes up to their respective grounds. Tuere is none of the color and tastiness of get-up you will perceive, which lends such a life io the present game at Rigby, making the dullest and worst fought match a pretty sigut. Now each house hasits own uniform of cap andjersey, of some lively color: butatthe time we ure speaking of, plush caps have not yet Come in, or uniforms of any sort, except the School-house white trow- sers, Which areabowinavly cold to-day: letus get to work, bare-headed and girded with our plain leather straps—but we mean business, gentle- men. And now that the two sides have fairly sun- dered, and each oceupies its own ground, and we get a good look at tuem, what absurdity is this ? You don’t mean to say that those fiity or sixty boys in white trousers, many of them quite small, are going to play that huge mass opposite? In- deed L do, gentlemen; they are going to try, at any rate, aud won’timake such a bad fight of it either, mark my word; for hasn’t old Brooke wou the tuss, with his lucky halfpenuny, and got choice of goals aud kick-off? The new ball you may see lie there quite by itself,in the middie, pointing to- wards theschoolorisland goal; in another tninute it willbe well on its way tiere., Uso that minutein remarking how the School-house g#ide is drilled. You will see, in the ficst place, that the sixth form boy who las the charge of goal has spread his foree (the goal-keepers) 80 as (0 occupy Uae whole space behind the goal-posts, at distances of about five yards apart; a safe and well-kept goal is the foundat on of ali good play. Old Brooke is talking to ihe captain of quarters; und now he moves away. See how that youngster spreads his men (the light brigade) carefully over the ground, half- way between their own goaland the body otf their own players-tp (the heavy brigade). These again play 1n several bodies; there is young Brooke and the bull-dogs—mark them well—iney are the “fighting brigade,” the ‘“die-bards,” larking about atleap-trog to keep thewselves warm, and playing tricks on one another. And on euch side of Old Brooke, who is now standing in the middle of the ground and just going to kick-off, yousce a separate wing of players-up, each with a boy of acknowledged prowess to look to—here Warner, and there Hedge; but over all is old Brooke, ab. solute as he of Russia, but wisely and bravely ruling over willing and worshipping subjects, a true football king. His face is earnest aud care- fulas he glances a last time over his array, but full of pluck and hope, the sort of look i hépe to see in my general when I go out to fizht, Tie School side is not organized in the same way. The goal-keevers are all in lumps, anyhow and no-how; you can’o distinguish between the players-up and toe boys in quarters, and there is divided leadership; but witi such odds1n strength and weightit must take more than that to hinder them from winning; so their leaders seem to e nk, for they let the players-up manage them- selves, But now look, there is a slight move forward of the School-house wings;ashourof*Are you reacy?” and loud affirmative reply. Old Brooke takes half a dozen quick steps, and away gves the ball spin- ning towards the Sehool goal; seyenty yards be- fore it touches ground, and at no point aboye ¥ iL twelve or fifteenfeet high, a model lack-of; snd. the School-house cheer and ruéh on; the ballis returned, and they meet it and drive it back amongst the masses of the School already jn motion. Then the two sides close, an@ you can seq nothing for minutes but a swaying crowd of boys; at one point violently agitated. That is where the ball is, and there are the keen players to be met, and the glory and th... hard knocks to be got; you bearthe doll 4 thudof the hall, and the sbouts of “Off your side,” “Down witu hig.” “Put lnm over.’ “Pravo.” Tais 13 what we call “a scrummage,” gentlemen, and tho first scrummage ina School-house match was no joke in the consulship of Plancus. Bub sce! it has broken; the ball is driven ou! on the School-nouse side, and a rusnof the Sulnol curries if past the School-house players-up. “Look out in quarters,” Brooke’s and twenty other yoires ring out. Nv need to call, though; the Szhool- house captain of quarters has caughtit on the bound, dodges the foremost School boys who are heading the rusb, and sendsit back with a good drop-kick well into the enemy’s country. And then followsrush upon rush, and scrummage upon scrummage, the ball now driven through into the School-house quarters, aud new into the Sehool goal; for the School-house have not lost tho ad- vautage Which the kick-offand a shgbt wind gave them-at the outset, and are slightly “ penniog” their adversaries, Yousay, you don’t seé muchin itall; nothing but a struggling mass ot boys, and aleather ball, which seems to excite them all to greatfury, asaredragdoesa bull. My aear sir, a battle would look much the same to you, except that the boys would be men, and the balls iron; but a battle would be worth your looking at, for all that, and so is a football match. You can’t be expected to appreciate the delicate strokes of play, the turns by which a game is lost and won— ittakes an oll player to do that, but the broad philosophy of footvall you can understand if you will come along with me a little nearcr, and let us consider it together, The ball had just fallen again where the two sides are thickest, and they close rapidly around it in a scrummage; ibmust be driven through now by force or skill, till it flies out on one side or the other. Look how. differently the boys face it! Here comes two of the bulldogs, bursting through the outsiders; in they go, straight to the heart of the scrummage, pent on driving that ballout on the opposite side. That igs what they mean to do, My sons, my sons! you are too hot; you have gone. past the ball, and musé struggle now right through the serui- mugt, and get round and back again to your own side, betore youcan beof any further uss. Here comes young Brooke; he goes in aa straight as you, but keeps his head, and backs and bends, holding himself still behind the ball, and driving it furiously when he gets the chance. Take a leaf out of his book, you young chargers, Here come Speedicut, and Flashinan, the School- house bully, with shouts and great action, Won’t you twocome upto young Brooke, after locking-up, by the School-house fire, with “Old fellow, wasu’t that just a splendid scrummagoa by the three trees!” But he knows you, and so do we. You don’t really want to drive that ball through that scrummago, Chancing all hurt for the glory of the School-Louse—buf to make us think thas what you waut—a vastly different thing; and fellows of your kidney will never go through more than the skirts of a scrummago, where it’s all push and no kicking. We respoct boys who keep out of it, and don’tsham going in; but you—we had rather not say what we think of you. hen the boys who are bending and watch- ing on the outside, mark them—they are most useful players, the dodgers; who seize on tho ball the moment it rolls out from amongst the chargers, and away with it across to the oppo- sito goal; they seldom go into the serummage, but must have more coolness than the chargers; as endless as are boys’ characters, so are their ways of facing or not facing a scrummage at football. Taree-quarters of an hour are gone; first winds are failing, and weight and numbers begin- uing to tell. Yardby yard tho School-house have been driven back, contesting every inch of ground. The bull-dogs are the color or mother earth from shoulder to ankle, eat young Brooke, who has a marvellous knack of keeping his legs. Tho School-house are being penned in their turn, and now the ballis behind their goal, under the Doc- tor’s wall, The Doctor and some of his family are there looking on, and seem as anxious as any boy tor the success of the School-house, We get a minute’s breathing time before old Brooke kicks out, and he gives the word to play strongly for touch, by the threetrees. Away goes the ball, and the bull-dogs after 1t,and in anotner minute there is a shout of “In touch,” “Our ball.” Now’s . your time, old. Brooke, while yourmen are stif. fresh. Hv stands with the ballin his hand, while the two sides form in deep lines opposite one another; he must strike it straight out between them. ‘he lines are thickest close to him, but young Brooke and twe or three ot his men are shifting up far- ther, where the opposite line is weak. Oid Brooke strikes it out straight and strong, and it falls opposite hisbrother. Hurrah! that rush has taken ig right through the School line, and away past the three trees, far into their quarters, and
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12 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. young Brooke and the bull-dogs aro close uponit. Tue Scnool leaders rush back, shoutiug “ Look out in goal!” and strain every nerve to catch him, but they are after the fleetest foot in Rugby. There they go straight for the scool goal-poats, quarters scattering before them, Ouo after “nother the bull-dogs go down, but young Brooke holds on. ‘*He is down.” No! a long stagger, but the dangeris past; that was the shock of Crew, the most dangerous of dodgers. And now he is close to the School goal, the ball not three yards before him. ‘There is a hurried rush of the School fags to the spot, but no one throws hiw- self ou the ball, the only chance, and young Brooke bas touched it right under the School goal-post. The school leaders come up furious, and admin- ister tovo to the wretched fags nearest at hand; they may well be angry, for itis all Lombard street to a china orange that the School-liouse kick a goal with tne ball touched in such a good place. Old Brooke of course will kickit out, but who shall caven and place it? Call Crab Jones. Here he comes, sauntering aloug with astraw io his mouth, the queerest, coolest fish in Rugby; if he were tumbled into the moon this minute, he would just pick himself up without taking his hands out of bis pockets or turninga hare But itis a moment when the boldest eharger’s heart beats quick, Old Brooke stands with the ball under his arm motioning the School back; he will not kick-out till they are all in goal, bebind the posts; they are all edging forward, inch by ineb, to get nearer for the rush av Crab Jones, who stands therein front of old Brooke to catch the ball. If they can reach and destroy him before he catches, the danger is over; and with oue and the same rush they will‘carry 16 right away to the School-house goal. Fond hope! itis kieked out and caught beautifuily, Crab strikes his heelinto the ground, to mark the spot where the ball was caught, beyond which the School line Inay votadyauce; but there they stand, tive deep, ready torush the moment the ball touches the ground. Take plenty of room! don’t give the rush a chance of reaching you! place it true and steady! Trust Crab Jones—nhe bas made a small hole with his neel for the bali to he on, by which he is resting on one knee, with his eye on old Brooke. ‘Now!’ Crab plaves th: ball at the word, old Brooke kicks, and it rises slowly and truly us the Schvol rush forward. Then a moment’s pause, while both sides look up at the spinuing ball. There it flies, straight between the two posts, some five feet ‘above the cross-bar, an unquestioned goal; and a shout of real genuine joy rings out from the Scnoo!-house play ers-up, and a faint echo of it comes over the close from the goal-keepers under the Doctor’s wall. A goal in the first hour—such a thing husn’t been done in the School-hous® match these five Ours. z “Ovor!” is the ery: the two sides change goals, and the School-house goal-keepers come thread- ing their way across turough the masses of the School; the most openly triumphant of them, amongst whom is Tum, « School-house boy of two hours’ standing, getting their ears boxed in the transit, Tom indeed 1s excited beyond measure, andit is all the sixth-torm boy, kindest and satest of goal-keepers, has been able to do; to keep him from rushing out Whenever the ball has been near their goal. So he holds him by his side, and in- structs bim in the science of touching. At this moment Griffith, the itinerant vender of oranges from Hill Mortou, enters the close with his heavy baskets; there is a rush of small boys upon the tittle pale-faced man, the two sides mingling together, subdued by the great Goddess Thirst, like the English and Freneh by the streams in the Pyreuees. ‘he leaders ave past oranges and apples, but some of them visit their coats, and apply innocent-looking ginger-beer bottles to their mouths. It is no ginger-beer though, I fear, and will do you no good. One short mad rush, and then a stiteh in the side, and no more honest play; that’s what comes of those bottles, But now Grisfith’s baskets are empty, the ballis placed again midway, and the School are guing to Kick off, The leaders have sent their number into gual, and rated the rest soundly, andone hundred and twenty picked players-up are there, bent on retrieving the game. They are to keep the ballin iront of the School-house goal, and then to drive itin by sheer strength aud weight. They mean heavy play and no wistake, and so old Brooke sees; and places Crab Jones in quarters just be- fore the goal, with four or five picked players, who are to keep the ball away to tne sides, where atry abt goal, if obtained, will be less dangerous thaninfront. He himsell, and Warner and Hedge, who have saved themselves till now, will lead the eharges. ‘Are you ready?’ “Yes.” And away comes the ball kicked high in the air, to give the School time to rush on and catch it asitfalls. And here they are amongst us, Meet them like English- men, you School-house boys, and charge them home. Now 1s the time to show what metile isin you—and there shall be a warm seat by the hall fire, and honor, and lots of bovtied beer to-night, tor him who does his duty in the next half hour. Again and again the cloud of thew players-up gathers before our goal, and comes threatening on, and Warneror Hedge, with young Brooke and the relies of the bull-dogs, break through and carry the ball baek; and old Brooke ranges the field like Job’s war-horse; the thickest scrum- mage parts asunder before his rush, like the’ waves before a clipper’s vows; his ehoery voice rings over the field, and his eye is everywhere, Aud if these miss tie ball, and 16 rolls danger- ously in trout of our goal, Crab Jones and his men have seized it and sent it away towards the sides with the unerring drop-kick. Thisis worth hving tor; the whole sum of school-boy existence ga- thered up into one straining, struggling balf-hour, a half-hour wort a year of common life. The quarter to five has struck and the play slackens for a Minute before goal; but there is Orew, the artful dodger, driving the ballin be- tind our goal, on the Islarid side, where our quar- ters are weakest, Is there no one to meet him? Yes! look at little Hast! the ball is just at equal distances between the two, and they rush to- gether, the young man of seventeen and the boy of twelve, and kick it at the same moment, Crew passes on without a stagger; Hast is hurled forward by tne shock, and plunges on his shouldor, as if he would bury himself in the ground; but the ball rises straight into the air and falls behind Crew's back, while the “bravoa’’ of the School-house attest the pluckiest charge of all that hard-fought day. Warner picks East up lame and half-stunned, and he hobbles back into goal, conscious of having played the man. And now the last minutes aro come, and the School gather for their last rush, every boy gf the hundred and twenty who hasarun left In him. Reckless of the defence of their own goal, on they come across the level hig-side ground, the ball well down amongst them, straight for our goal, like the column of the Old Guard, up the slope of Waterloo. All former charges have been child’s play to this. Warner aud Hedge have met them, but stillou they come. The bull- dogs rush in for the last time; they are hurled over and carried back, striving, hand, foob and eyelids. Old Brooke comes sweeping round the skirts of the play, and, turning short round, picks out the very beartor the scrummage and plunges in. It wavers for a moment—he has the ball! No, it has passed him and his voice rings out clear over the advancing tide, ‘Look out in goal!” Crab Jones catches-it for a moment, but before he can kick the rush is upon him and passes over him; and he picks himself up behind them with his straw in his mouth, a little dirtier but as cool as ever, The ball rolls slowly in behind the School- house goal, not three yards in front of a dozen of the biggest School players-up. There stand the School-house preepostor, safost of goal-keepers, and Tom Brown by bis side, who has learned his trade by this time. Now is your time, Tom. The blood of all the Browns is up, and the two rushin together, and throw them- selves on tho ball, under the very feet of the ad- vancing coiumn; the pragpostor on his hands aud knees arching his back, and Tom allaloug on his face. Over them topple tho leaders of the rush, shooting over the back of the preeppstur, but falling flat on TYom,and knocking all the wind outof his small carcass, “Our ball,” says the preepostor, risiug with his prize, “but get up there, there’s a little fellow under you.” They aro hauled and roll o& him, and Tom is discovered &® motionless body. Old Brooke picks him up. ‘Stand back, give him air,’ he savs; and then feeling his limbs, adds, “No bones broken. How do you feel, young uu?” “VWah-hah,” gasps Tow, as his wind comes back, “pretty well, tQank zou—all ricnt.’”’ “Who is he?’ says Brooke, ‘Oh, it’s Brown, he’s a new boy; If know him,” says Hist,coming up. “Well, ne is a plucky youngster, and will make a player,’ says Broom. And five o’clock strikes. ‘No side” is called, and the first day of the School-nouse match is over. CHAPTER VL. ABTER THE MATCH. As the Joys scattered away from the ground, and East, leaning on Tom’sarm and limping along, was beginning to consider what luxury they should go and buy for tea to celebrate that glorious vic- tory, the two Brookes came striding by, Old Brooke caught sight of East and stopped; put his hand kindly on his shouldec and said, “ Bravo, young- ene “bs played famously ; not much the matter, ope : “No, nothing at all,” said Hast, “only a little twist from that charge.” “Well, mindand getallright for next Saturday ;” and the leader passed on, leaving East better for those few words than all the opodeidoc in EKug- land would have made him, and Tom ready to g1ve one of his earsforas much notice. Ab! light words ot those whom we love and honor, what a power ye are, and how carelessly wielded by those who can use you! Surely for these things also God will ask an account. “Tea’s directly after locking-up, you see,” said East, hobbling*as fast a8 he could, “so you come along down to Sally Harrowell’s; that’s our Scaool-house tuck shop—she bakes such stunning murphies, we'll have w peun’orth each for tea; come along, or they'll all be gone.” Tom’suew purse aud money burntin his pocket; he wondered, as they toddled through tue quad- rangle and along the street, whether Bast would be insulted it he suggested further extruvagauce, as he had not sufficient faith in a penny worth of potatoes, At lasthe blurted out— Com “T soy, st, can’t we get something else besides. potatoes? Tye got lots of money, you kuow.” “Bless us, yes,’ I forgot, said Hast, you’ve only just come. Yousee all my tin’s been gone thie twelve weeks; it hardly ever lasts beyond the first fortnight; and our allowances were all stop- ped this morning for broken windows, 80 Thaveu’t got apenny. I’vo gota tick at Sally’s, of course > but then I hate running it hich, you see, fowurds the end of the half, ’cause one has to sheli out for it all directly one comes back, and that’s a bore.” Tom didn’t understand much of this talk, but. seized on the fact that East had no money, and was denying bimself some little pet luxury in consequence. ‘Well, whatshall I buy ?” said he ; “Vm uncommon hungry.” “Tsay,” said Hast, stopping to look at him and rest his leg, ‘‘you’re a trump, Brown. T’ll’do the same by you next half. Let’s have a pound of sausages, then, that’s the best grub for tea L know of.” “Very well,” said ‘Tom, as pleased as possible; “ where do they sell them %” “Oh, over here, just opposite ;” and they crossed the street and walked into the cleauest litile front room of a small house, half parlor, hil! shop, and bougbt a poun@of most paruicular sausag-s ¢ East talking pleasantly to Mrs. Porter while sho pub them in paper, and Tom doing the paying part. : From Porter’s they adjourned to Sally Hur- rowell’s, where they found alot of Schoo!-house boys’ waiting for the roast potatues, and relating ther own exploitsin the day’s watch at the top of their voices. The street opened at once into Sally’s kitchen, a low brick-flooged room, with large recess for fire, and chimney-corner sents. Poor little Sally, the most good-natured and much enduring of womankind, was bustling about with a napkin in her hand, from her own oven to those of the neighbors’ cottages, up the yard at the back of the house. Stumps, her husband, a short easy-goiug shoemaker, with a beery hamor- ous eye and ponderous calves, who lived mostly on his wife’s earnings, stoodin the corner of the room, exchanging shotsol the roughes) deserip— tion of repartee With every boy1n turn. “Stumps, you lout, you’ve had too much beer again to-day.” ‘oPwasn’t of your paying for, then.”—“Stuimp’s calves are running down into his ankles; they want to get to grass.” “Better be doing tiat, than gone altogether like yours,” ote., etc. Very poor stuff it was, bur it served to make time pass; and every now and then Sally arrived in the middle with a smoking tin of potatoes, which was cloared offin afew seconds, each boy as he » seized his lot running off to the house with “ Put me down two-penn’orth, Sally;” Put down three-penn’orth between me and Dayis,” ete, How she ever kept the accounts so straight as she did, in her head and on her slate, was a perfect wonder. r East and Tom got served at last, and started back for the School-house just as tho locking-up bell began to ring; East on the way recounting the life and adventures of Stumps, who was a character. Amongst his other small avocations, he was the hind carrier of a sedan-chair, the las& of its race, in which the Rugby ladies still went. out to tea, and in which, when he was fairly harnessed and carrying a ISad, it was the delight of small and mischievous boys to follow him and whip his calves. This was too much for the temper even of Stumps, and he would pursue his. tormentors in @ vindictive und apopletic manuer when released, but was easily pacified by two- pence to bay beer with. ; The lower schoolboys of the School-house,. some fifteen in number, had tea in the lower. tifta school, and were presided over by the old verger or head-porter. Each boy had a quarter of a loat of bread and pat of butter, and as much tea as he pleased; and there was scarcely one. who didn’t add to this some further luxury, such as baked potatoes, a herring, sprats, or something of the sort; but few at this period of the half-year, could live up to a pound of Porter’s sausages, and East Was in great: mag- nifleeneo upon the strength of theirs. Ho had produced atoasting-fork from his study, aud seb Tom to toast the sausages, while he mvuuntet guard over their butter and potucoes; cause,’” as he explained, “you're a new boy, and tuey’lh play you some trick and get our butter, but you can toast just as wellas I.” So Tom, in the midst ot three or tour more urchins similarly employed, toasted his face and the sausayes at the same time before the huge tire, till the latter cracked, when East from his watch-tower shouted that tfey were done; ‘aud then the feast proceeded, and the testive cups of tea were filledand emptied, - and Lom lmparted of the sausages in small bits, to maby neighbors, and thought he had never tasted such good potatoes or seen such jolly buys. They on their parts waived all ceremony, and pegged away at the sausages and potastyes, and, - remembering Totn’s performances in goal, youuu Eusv’s uew crony a brick. After tea, and wutie. the things were being cleared away, they gatu- ered rouud the fire, and the talk on the maton still went on; and those who had them to show, pulled up their trowsers and showed the hacks they had recerved in the good cause, | They were soon however all turned out of the scnool, and Bast conducted Tom up to his bed- rodm, that ho might get on clean things and wash himself before singing. ‘What's singing,” said Tom, taking his head
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TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS. 13 Out of the basin, where be had been plunging it in cold water. “Well, you are jolly green,” answered his friend from a neighboring basin. “‘Why, the last six Baturdays of every half, we sing, of course: and this 1s the first of them. No first lesson to do, you kvow, and He in bed to-morrow morning.” “Bub who sings?” “Why, every body, of course; you'll see soon enough. We begin directly afier supper, and sing till bed-time, It ain’t such goodfuunow tho’ as’tig in the summer hall, ’eause then we sing in the little fives’ court, under the library you know, ‘We take out tables, and the big buys sit round, and drink beer; double allowance on Saturday nights; and we cut wbout the quadrangle be- tween the songs, and it looks like a lot of robbers an a cave. And the louts come and pound at the great gates, snd we pound back again, and shout at them. iu» itis half we only sing in the hall. Come aluny«. wu to my study.’ Tueir priicipal employment in the study was to clvar oub Hasi’s table, remgying the drawers and ornaments aud tablecloth, Tor he lived in the bot tom passage, and his table was in requisition for the singing. F Supper came in due course at seven o’clock, con- sisting of bread and cheese and beer, which Were ali saved for the singing; and directly afterwards the fags went to work to prepare tue hall. The Azhool-house hall, as has been said, is vw great luug high room, with two large fires on one side, und two lurge irdh bound tables, one running duwa the middle, and the other along the wall opposite the fire-places. Around the upper fire. the fags placed the tables in the form of a horse-shoe, aud upon them the juss with the Saturday nighv’s al- lowance of beer. Then the big boj)s used to drop an wnd take their seats, bringing with them bol- Aled beer and sonug-bvoks; for although they all Anew the songs by heart, it was the thing to have an old manuseript book descended from some de- parted hero, in which they were ullcarefully writ- ven out, The sixth-form boys had not yet appeared: so “to fill vp the gap, au interesting and time-honored aeremouy Was gone through. Bach new boy was Placed on the table in turn, and made tu sing a Solo, under the pevalty of drinking a large wug of salé and water if he resisted or broke, down. iowever, the new boys all sing like nightingales to-night, and the salo water is notin requisition; ‘Lom, as his part, performing the old west-sountry song of “The Loather Bottle” with considerable applause. And at the balf hour down cumo the sixth and fifth form boys, and take their places at the tables, which are filled up by the next biggest boys; tie rest, for whom there ig no room at the dane, standing round outside, Tue glasses and mugs ure filled, and then the fugie-man strikes up an old sea song—und all the seventy voices join in, not mindtil o” harmony, but bent ou nolse, which they attain decidedly, but the general effect 1sn’s bad. And then tollow vue “ British Grenadiers,” “Billy Laylor,? “The Siege of Seringapatam,” “Three Jaily Post-boys,’’ andothet vociteroussongs inrapit succession, in- cluding the ** Chesapeake and Shannon,” a song dutely iutroduced in hover of old Brooke: Tue sixth and filth kuow that “brave Brooke ” of the Snannon was no sori of relation toourold Brooke, “tne fourth form are uncertain in their belief, but jor the wost part hold that oli Brooke was wmid- suipman then ou board his uncle’s soip. und the lower school never doubt for a moment that it was our old Brooke who led the boarders, in what capacity they care not a straw. During the pauses tue bottiled-beer corks fly rapidly, and the vig boys, at least aillof tuem who hays a felluw- iceling tor Gry throats, hand their mugs Overtieir snvoulders to be emptied by the small ones who who stand round behind. Then Waruer, tue headof the house, gets up and wants to speak, but he can’t, forevery boy knows what’s coming; aud the big boys who sit at the tables pound themand cheer; andthe small boys who stand behind pound one another, and cheer, and rush about the ball cheerme. Then sileace veing made, Warner reminds them ot the old Scvnool-touse oustom of drinking the healths, on lie first night of singing, of Lhoso who are going to leave at the endot the halt, “He sees that they know what ho is going to say already—(loud eheers)—and so wou’t keep them, but only ask them to treat the toast agit deserves. Ibis the head of the cleven, the head of big-side lootball, their leader on thus glorious day—Pater Brooke! And away goes the puunding and cheering again, becoming deafening when oll Brooke gets ou his legs: till a table having broken dpwn, and a gallon or so of beer been upset, and all throats getting dry, silence ensues, and the hero speaks, Jeaning his hands on the table, and beading a lit- the forward. No action, no wicks of oratory; plain, strong, and straight, like bis play. “Gentlemen of the School-house! 1 am very - proud of the way in which you bave received my uname, and I wish Icould say allf should like toin return: But I know I shan’t. However, Ill do ' the best Tcan to say what seems to me ought to be said by a tellow who’sjust going to loave, and who has spenta good silce of his lirehere. Bight -yeurs itis, and eight such years as I can never hope to have again. So now [ hope you'll alllisten to me—{loud cheers) of ‘that we will’—for I am going to talk seriously. Yow’re bound to listen to ; i ede Tor what’s the use of callin v me ‘ pater,’ and li that, if you don’t mind what apace a say? AndITam «oing to talk seriousfy, becauss I feel so. It’s a jolly time, too, getting to the end ef the half, and a goal kicked by us first day—(tremendous ap- plause)—after one of the hardestand fiercest day’s play I can remember in eight years—(frantic shoutings). Tho school played splendidly, too, I will suy,und kept it upto the last. Thad last charge of theirs woul 1 have carried away a house, IT never thought to see anything again of old Crab there, except little pieces, when I saw him tumbled over by it—(laughter and shouting, and greut slapping on the back of Jones by tho boys nearest him). Well, but wo beat ’em—(cheers), Ay, but why did we beat’em? answer me that— ( by the great majority evea of Lisown house, For he had found school and school-house in stato of monstrous license and misrule, und was still employed in the necessary bub unpopular work cf setting up order with a strong band, However, as bas beeu said,old Brooke triumphed, and tho boys Cheered him, wnd then the Doecor. Aud then more songs Came, and the healths of the other boys about to leave, who cach made a speech one flowery, suother maudlin, a third prosy, an 800n, Wud are nob necessary bo be here recorded. Huif-pust niue struck inthe widdle of the pere formance of * Auld Lang Syne,” a inost obstreper ous proceeding; during which there was anim. mense amountof standing with one foot on the table, knocking wags together aud shaking hands, Without which accompaniments it seems 1m possi: ble for the youth of Bricain totuke part in that famous old song. The under-porter of the School. house entered during the performance, bearing five or six long wooden candlesticks, with lighted. dips in them, which he pase to stick into their holes in such partof the great tables as he could get at; and then stood outside the ring liv the end of the song, when he was hailed with shouts, ' “Bill, you old muff, the half-hgur hasn’t struck,” “Here Bill, drink some cocktail,” “Sing usa song, old boy,” “Don’s you wish you may get the table?” Bill drank tue proffered cocktail not un- willingly, aud putting down the empty gluss, re~ monstrated,.“*Now, gentlemen, there’s only ten minutes to prayers, and we uust get the hali straight.” : Shouts of “No, no!” ane a violent effort to strike up “Billy Taylor” for the third time. Bili looked — appealiggly lo old Brooke, who got wp and stop ped the noise. ‘Now then lend a hand, you youngsters, and get the tables back, clear away the jugs and glasses. Bill’s right. Open the win- dows, Warner.” The boy addressed, who sat by
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wu the long ropes, proceeded be lt up the great windows, und let in a clear f¥esh rush of night air, which made the candles flicker and gutter, and the firrs roar. The circle broke up, each col- laring his own jug, glass, and song-bovuk; Bill pounced onthe big table, and beganto rattleit away to its place outsida the buttery-door. The lower-passage boys carricd «i their small tables, aided by their friends, while above all, standing on the great hall-table, a knot of untiring sons of harmony made night doleful by a prolonged per- Tormance of “Godsave the King.” His Majesty King William IV, then reigned over us, a monarch deservedly popular amongst the boys addicted to melody. In troth we were loyal subjects in those days in a rough way. I trust that our successors make as much of her present Majesty, and, having re- gard to the greater reflaement of the times, have adopted or written other songs equally hearty, 4ut more civilized, in her honor, Then the quarter to tea struck, and the prayer- dell rang. Ime sixth and fifth form boys ranged themselves in their school order along the wall, on either side of the great fires, the middle fifth avd upper-school boys round the jong table inthe middle of the hall, and the lower-school boys round the upper part of the second long table, which ran down the hall farthest from the fires, Here Tom found himself at the bottom of ailina stato of mind and body nob at ali fit for prayers, as he thought; and so tried nard to make himself serious, but couldn’t for the life of him, do any thing but repeat in his head the chorusesof some of the songs,and stare at all the boys opposite, wondering at the brilliancy of their waistcoats, and speculating what sort of fellows they were. The steps of the head porter are heard on the stairs, and alight gleums atthe door, “Hush!” from the fifth form boys who stand there, and then in strides the Doctor, Cap on head, book in ove hand, and gathering up his gown in the other. He walks up the middle and takes his post by Warner who begins culling over the names. ‘ho Doctor takes no notice of anything, but quietly turns over his book, and finds the place, and then stands, cap in hand and &nger in book, looking straaght before hisnose. Ha krows better than any one when tolook and when to seenothing; to-night is singing night and there’s been lots of noise,and no harm done; nothing but beer drunk and nobody the worse for it, though some of them do look hot and excited. So the Doctor sees nothing but fascinates Tom ia a horrible manner,as he stands there and reads out the Psalin in that deep, ringing, search- | P’ ing voice of his. Prayers are over, and Tom still stares open-mouthed after the Doctor’s retiring figure, when he feels a pull at his sleeve, and turning round, sees East. “Tsay, were you ever tossed in w blanket?” “No,” said Tom; “whyt” “Causo there’)! be tossing to-night, most likely, before the sixth come up to bed. Soif you funk, you just come along and hide, or else they’ll catch you wud toss you.” “Were you ever tossed? Dves it hurt?” inquir- ed Tom. “Oh yes, bless you, a dozen times,” said East, as he hobbled along by Tom’s side up stairs. “It don’t hurt unless you fallon the floor. But most fellows don’t like it,” They stopped short at the fireplace in the top passage, Where were a crowd ot small boys whis- eriug together, and evidently unwilling to go up nto the bed-rooms. In a minute, however, a study door opened, and a sixth-form boy came out, and off they all scuttled up the stairs, and then noisclessly dispersed to their different yooms. Toms heart beat rather quick as ho and Sast reached their room, but he had made up his wind. ‘“Isnan’t hide, Hast,” said he. “Very well, old fellow,” replied East, evident- ly pleased; ‘no more 3hall I—they’ll be here for as directly.” ; The room was a great big one with a dozen beds in it, but nota boy that Tom could see, ex- eept East and himself. East pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and then sat on the bottom of his bed, whistling and pulling off his boots ; Tom fol- lowed his example, A noise and steps are heard in the passage, the 4oor opens, and inrush four orfive great fifth- form boys, headed by Flashman in his glory. Tom and East slept in the farther corner of the room, aud were nut seen at first. “Gone to. ground, eh?” roared Flashman; “push ’em out then, boys! look under the beds;” . and he pulled up the little white curtain of the one nearest him. ‘“‘ Who-o-op,” he roared, pulling away at tho leg of a small boy, who held on tight to the leg of the bed, and sung out lustily for merey. “ Here, lend a hand, one of you, and help puli out this young howling brute. Hold your tongue, sir, or Vibiill you.” z DE leaee, Flashman, Race Walker, don’t toss mel Vlifag for you, I’li do any thing, only don’t toss me.” “You be hanged,” said Flashman, lugging the wretched boy along, ‘’twon’t hurt you, youl Come along, boys, here he is,” “Tsay, Flashey,” sung out another of the big boys, “drop that; you heard what oid Pater Brooke said to-night. Dll be hanged if we’ll toss any one against their will—no more bullying. Let him go, I say.” Fiashmau, Wich ap oath and a kick, released his TOM BROWWS SCHOOL DAYS. prey, who rushed headlong under his bed again,| made a rtep in life which he had been anxious tc= for fear they should change their minds, and erept along underneath the other beds, till he got nnoder that of the sixth-form boy, which he knew they daren’t disturb. “There’s plenty of youngsters don t care about it,” said Walker, ‘Here, here’s Soud Ea:t—you’ll be tossed, won’t you, young un ?”? Scud was East’s nickname, or Black, as we Called it, gained by his fleetness of foot. ; ne res,” said East, “if you like, only mind my ‘oot. “And here’s another who didn’t hide. Hullo) new boy: what’s your name, sir?” “Brown.” “Well, Whitey Brown, you don’t mind being tossed 2” “No,” said Tom, setting his teeth, ‘*Come along then, boys,” sung out Walker, and away they went, carrying along Tom and East, to ‘the intense relief of four or five other small boys, ae crept out from under the beds and behind them. “What a trump Scud is!” said one, “They won’t come back here now.” “And that new boy, too; he must be a goog plucked one,” ‘ “Ah! wait till he has been tossed on to the floor ; see how he'll like it then!” Meantime the procession went down the pas- sage to No. 7, the largest reom, and the scene of the tossing, in the middle of which was a great open space. Here they joined other parties of the bigger boys, 6ach wiih a captive or two, some Willing to be tossed, somo sullen, and some fright- ened to death. At Walker’s suggestion all who wero afraid were let off, in honor of Pater Brooke’s speech. Then a dozen big boys seized hold of a blanket, dragged from one of the beds. “In wita Scud, quick, there’s no timeto lose.” East was chucked luty the blanket. “Once, twice, turice, and away;” up ho went like a shuttlecock, bu6 not quite up to the ceiling. “Now, boys, wili a will,” cried Walker, “ onoo, twice, thrice, and away!’ ‘bis time he went ciean up, aud kept himself from touchiaz the ceiling with bis hand, and so again @ third time, when he was vurned out, and up went unother boy. And then came Tom’s turn, He lay quite still, by East’s adviee, and didn’t wisiike tue “once, twice, thrice;” but the “iway ” wasn’ so pleasant. They were in gooa wind now, and seat him slap up to the ceiling tirst time, againsé which his knees Camervather sharply. Butthe moment’s ause before descending was the rub, the feeling of utter helplessness, and of leuving his whole in- sido bebind him sticking to the ceiling. Tom was very near shouting lo be seb uown, when he found himself backin the blanket, but thought of Hast, aud didn’t; and so he took his three tosses without a kick or a cry, and was called a young trump for his pains. He and East, having earned it, stood now look- ing on. No catastrophe happened, as all the captives were cool hands, aud didn’t struggle, This didn’t suit Flashman. What your reai bully likes 1n tossing, is when the boys kick and surug- gle, or hold on to one side of the bianket, and go get pitohed bodily on to the floor; it’s no tun to him when no one is hurt or frightened, “Let’s toss two of them together, Waller,” suggested he. “What a cursed bally you are, Flashey ’” rejoined the other, ‘ Up with another one. ‘ And s0 no two boys wére tossed together, the peculiar hardship of which is, that it’s too much for human nature to lie still then and share troubles; and so the wretched pair of small boys struggle in the air which shall fall atop im the descent, to the no small risk of both failing out of the blanket, and the huge delight of brutes like Fiashman,. : But now there’s a ery that the preepostor of the room is coming; so the tossing stops, and all scat- ter to their different rvuoms; and Tom is left to turn in, with the first day’g experience of a public school to meditate upon. CHAPTER VII. SETTLING TO THE COLLAR, Everybody, I suppose, knows the dreamy deli- cious state in which one lies, half asleep, half awake, while consciousness begins toreturn, afcer a sound night’s rest ina new place which we are glad to be in, following upon a day of unwonted excitement wud exertion. There are few piva- santer pieces of lite. Tne worstof 1t 43 that they last Such @ short time; for, nurse them us you will, by lying perfeciiy passive in mindand body, you can’t make more than five minutes orso ol them. After which time, the stupid, obtrusive, wakeful entity which we eall “1,” asimpatient as he is stiff-necked, spite of our teeth will force himself back again, and take possession of us down to our very toes. ~ ¢ was in this state that Master Tom Jay at half pase seven on the morning following the day of his arrival, and from his elean little white bed watched the movements of Bogle (the generic namo by which the successive shoe-blacks of the School-house were known), a3 he marched round from. bed to bed, collecting the dirty shoes aud boots, and depositing clean ones in their places. _ There he lay, half doubtful as to where exactly in (hs universe he wus, but conscious that he had make. It was only just light as he looked lazily out of the wide windows, and saw the tops of the great elms, and the rooks circling about, and caw~ ing remonstrances to the lazy ones of their com monwealth, before starting in a body for the neighboring ploughed fields. The noise of the room door closing behind Bogle, as he made his exjt with the shoe basket under his arm, roused: him thoroughly, and ho sat up in bed and looked , round thoroom. Whatin the world could be tke | matter with his shoulder and loins? Ho felf as if he had been severely beaten all down his back.. the natural results of his performances at his firsh match. He drew up his kneesand rested his enin on them, and went over all the events of yester~ day, rcjoicing in his new life, what he had seen of it, and all that was to conac. Presently one or two of the other boys roused themselves, and began to sit up and talk to one another in low tones. Then Kast, after a rolior two, came to riper, ita and, nodding bo Tom. began examining hi¥ankle, “Whata pull,” said he, “that it’s lie-in-bed, for I shall be as lame as a tree, I think.” It was Sunday morning, and Sunday lectures had" not yet been established: so that nothing but breakfast intervened between bed and eleven. o’clock chapel—a gap bv no means easy to fill up: in fact, though received with the correct amount of grumbling, the first lecture instituted. by the Doctor shortly afterwards* was a great: boon to the school. It was lio in-bed, and nok one was in @ hurry to get up, especially in rooms. where the sixth-form boy was a good-tempered. fellow, as was tho case im Tom’s room, and al- lowe the small boys to talk and laugh, and do pretty much what they pleased, so long as they didn’t disturb him. His bed was a bigger one than the rest, standing in the corner by the fire- place, with a washing-stand and large basin by the side, where he lay in stare, with his white. curtains tucked in so as to form a retiring place; an awful subject of contemplation to Tom, who slept nearly opposite, aud watebed the great man rouse himself and take @ book fron under his pillow, and begiu reading, leaning his head on his hand, and turning his back to the room. Soon, however, a noise of striving urchins arose, and muttered 6ncouragements from the neigh- boring boys, of—“ Goit, Tadpole!” “Now, youn Green!’ “Haul away his blanket!’ ‘Slipper bia on thehands!” Young Green and little Hall, commonly called Tadpvle, trom his great black head and thin legs, slept side by side far away by the door, and were forever playing one another tricks, which usually ended,as on this morning il Open and violeut collision: and now unmindfol of all order and authority, there they were each hauling away at each other’s bedclothes with one hand, and with the other, prmed with a slipper,. belaboring whatever portion 1/ the body of his. adversary emo within reach. “Hold that noise, up in the torner!’ galled out. the preepostor, sittingup and looking round his curtains; and the Tadpole and young Green sank down into their disordered beds, and then, looking at his watch, added, ‘Hullo, past eight !—whose turn for hot water?” (Where the preepostor was particular in his. ablations, the tugs in his room had to deseend in turn to tho kitchen, and beg or steal hot water for him; and often tho custom extended farther, and twu boys went down every morning to get a supply for the whole room.) @ “East's and Tadpole’s,’ answered the senior fag, wuo kept the rota, “T cun’t go,” suid East; “I’m dead lame.” “Well, be quick, s0me of you, that’s all,” said) the great wan, as he turned cut of bed, and put- ting on his slippers, went outinto the great pas- sage which runs the whole length of the bed- rooms, to get his Sunday habiliments out of his portmanteau. “Let me go for should like it.’’ “Well, thank’ee, that’s a good fellow.: Just pull. on your trowsers, and take your jug and mine, Tadpole will show you the way.” And s0Tom and the Tadpole, in night -shirts. and Trowsers, started off down stairs, and. through “ Fnos’s hole,” as the little buttery, where candies and beer and bread and cheese wore served out at night, was called; across the School-house court, down @ long passage, and. into the kitchen; whers, after some parley with the stalwart, handsome cook, who declared that. she had filled a dozen jags already, they got their hos water, angl roturned with all speed and great caution. Asif was, they narrowly escaped capture by some privateers from the fifth-form rooms, who were onthe look-out for the hot- water conyoys, and pursued them up to the very door of their room, making them spill halt their load in the passage. ‘Botter than going down again, tho’,” as Tadpole remarked, ** a3 wesbould. have had to do, if those beggers had caught us,” By the time that the calliug-over bell rang, Tom and bis new comrades were all down, dressed in their best clothes, and he had the sat- isfaction of answering *‘ here” to his name for the first time, the preepostur of the week having pat itinacthe bottom of his list. And then came breakfast, and a saunter about the close and. town with Hast, whose lameness only became ~ severe when ere fageing bad to be done. And. so they whiled away the time until morning: you,” said Tom to East, “Tf chapel.
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-service, which, however, didn’t impress him Tt was a fine November morning, anlthe close] £00n became alive with boys of all ages, wno saun- tered about on the grass, or walked round the gravel-walk, in parties of two or three. East, still doing the cicerone, pointed out all the remarka- ble characters to Tom as they passed: Osbert, who could throw a cricket ball from the Ilttle- side ground over the rook trees to the Doctor’s wall; Gray, who had got the Balliol scholarship, and, whit Hast evidently thought of much more moportance, @ half-hohday for the School by his suecess; Thorne, who had run ten miles in two minutes over the hour; Black, who had held his own against the cock of the town in the last row with the louts; and many more heroes, who then and there walked about ind were worshipped, ill trace of whom has long since vanished from the scene of their fame; ind the fourth-form boy who reads their names rudely cutout on the old hall tables, or painted on the big side-cupboard (if hall tables and big side-cupboards still exist), wonders what manner of boys they were. It will be the same with you who wonder, my sons, whatever your prowess may be, eet. or scholarship, or football. Two or thre6 years more or less, and then the steadily advancing, blessed wave will pass over your names, as it has passed over ours, Nevertheless, play your games and do your wox manfully—see only that that be done, and let the remembrance of it take care of itself. Tho chapel-bell began to ring at e poatee to eleven, and Tom gotin early and took his plaice in the lowest row; and tried to construe the Greek text which wis inscribed over the door with the slizhtest possible success, and wondered which of the masters, who walked down the chapel and took their seats in the exalted boxes at tho end, sould be his lord. And then came the closing of the doors, and the Doctor in his robes, and the much, for his feelings of wonder and curiosity was toostrong. And the boy on ono side of him was scratching his name on the oak panelling in front, and he couldn’t help watching to sée what the name was, avd whether if was well serateh- ed; and the boy on the other side went to sleep and kept falling agaiust him; and on the whole, though many boys even in that part of the School were seriousand attentive, the general at- mosphere wasby no means devotional; and when he got out into the close again, he didn’t feel at all comfortable, or asif he had been td church. But at_atternoon chapel 16 was quite another thing. He had spent the time alter dinuerin writing home to hismother, and so wasin a bet- terframe of mind; and his first curiosity was over, and he could attend more to the service. | Ag the hymn after the prayers was being sung, and the chapel was getting a Jittle dark, he was beginning to feel that he had been really worship- | ping. Andthen camo that great event in his, as inevery Rugby boy’s life of that day—the first sermon from the Doctor. ; More worthy pens than mine haye described that scene:—the oak pulpit standing out by itself above the School seats; the tall gallant form, the Kindling eye, the voice, now soft as the low notes of a flute, now clear and stirring as the cail of the light infantry bugle, of him who stood there Sunday after Sunday, witnessing and pleading for hisLord, the King of righteousness and love and glory, with whose spirit he was filled, and in whose power he spoke; the long lines of young faces, rising tier above tier down the whole length of the chapel, from the little boy’s who has just Jeft his mother to the young man’s who was going out next week into the great world re- joicing in his strength. It wasa greatand solemn sight, and never more s0 than at this time of the year, when the only lights in the chapel were 1n the pulpit and at the seats of the preepostors of the week, and the soft twilight.stole over the rest of thechapel, deepening into darkness in the high gallery behind the organ. But what was it, after all, which seized and held these three hundred boys, dragging them out of themselves, willing or unwilling, for twenty minutes, on Sunday afternoon % rue, there al- wars were boys scattered up and down the School, who iv heart and head were worthy to hear and able to carry away the deepest and wisest words there spoken. But these were a minority always, generally a very small one, often so sma!l 2 one as to be countable on the fingers of your hand. What was it that moved and held us, the rest. of the three hundred reck- leas, childish boys, who feared the Doctor with all our hearts, und very little besides in heaven or earth: who thought more of our sets in the School than of the Church of Christ, and put the tradi- tions of Rugby and the Slaps opinion of boys in our daily lifo above the laws of God? We couldn’¢ enter into half that we heard; we hadn’t the knowledge of our own hearts or the knowledge of one another; and little enough of the faith, hope, and love needed to thatend, But we listened, as all boysin their better moods will listen (ay, and men tov, for the matter of that), toa man whom we felt tobe, with all his heart and soul and strength, striving against whatever was mean and womanly and unrighteous in our little world. It was notithe cold, clear voice of one giving ad- vice and warning from serene height to those who were straggling and sinning below, but the warm living voice of one who was fighting for usand by our sides, and calling on us to help him and our- ‘selves and one another. And so, wearily and_ ‘Uttle by little, but surely and steadily on the TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS. ° whole, was brought home to the young boy, for the firsé time, tue mewhing of his life: thatit was no fool’s crsluggard’s paradise into which be had wandered by chanee, but a battle-fleld ordained from of old, where there are no spectators, but the youngest must take hisside,and the stakes ure lifeand death. And he who roused this conscious- ness in them showed them at the sametime, by every word he snoke in the pulpit,and by his whole daily life, howthat battle wasto ba fought; and stood there befors them their fellow-soldier and the captain of theirband. The tru» sort ofcaptain, too, for a boy’S army, Onewho had no misgivings and gave no uncertain worlof command, and, let who would yieldor make truee, world fight the fight out (so every boy felt) tothe last gaspand the last dropof blood. Otber sides cf his character might take hold of and influence boys here and there, butit was his thoroughnessand undaunted courage Which more than any thing elso won his way to the hearts of the great mass of thoso on whom he left his mark, and made them believe firstin him, and then in his Muster. It was this quality above all others which moved such boys as our hero, who had nothing whatever remarkuble avout him except excess of boyishness, by which I mean animal lifoin its fullest measure, good nature and honest impul- ses, hatred of injustice and meanness, and fhougtlessness enough to sink a three-decker, And so, during the next two yearsin whichit Was more than doubtful whether he would get good or oyil from the School, and before any steady purpose or principle grew up in him, whatever his week’s sins and shortcomings might B ioe side Hare-and-hounds,” exclaimed Tadpole;, “tear uwy, tuere’s no time to lose before calling-over.’”’ “Think it’s a great shame,” said another small boy, ‘to have such a hard run for the last day.” “Which ruu is it?” said Tadpole. “Oh, the Barby ran, I lear,” answered the other; ‘‘nine miles at least, and hard ground; no ‘chance of getting in at the flatsh, inless yow’re a first-rate sead.” “Well, ’'m going to have a try,” said Tadpole ;; “j¢’s the last ran of the hall, and if a fellow gets, inat the end, big-side stands ale and bread and cheese, and a bow! of punch; and the Cock’s such a famous place for ale.” “T should like t» try, too,” said Tom. : “Well then, leave your waistcoat behind, ang hsten at the door, after the calling-over, and you’ll hear where the meet is.” After calling-over, sure enough, there were two beys at the door, calling out, ** Big-side Hare-and- hounds meet ab White Hall;” and Tom, having girded himself with leather strap, and lef6é all. superfluous clothing benind, set off to White Hall, an old gable-ended house some quarter of a mile from the towa, with East, whom he had persuaded to jom, notwithstanding his prophesy that they could never get in, a8 is Was tho hardest run of the year. At the meet they found some forty or fifty boys, and Ton feltsure, from having seen many of them ran at football, that he and Bast were more likely to get in than they, Afcer a few minutes’ waiting, two well-known Truuners, chosen for the hares, buckled on tha our bags filled with scent, compared their watch have been, he hardly ever left the chapel on Sunday evenings without a serious resolve to stand by and tollow_ the Doctor, and a feeling that it was only cowardice (tne incarnation of all other sins in such a boy’s mind) which hindered him from doing so with all his heart, The nexs day Tom was duly placed in the third form, and began his lessons in a corner of the big School. He found the work very easy, as he had been well grounded and Knew his grammac by heart; and,as ho had no intimate companion to inake him idle (East and his other School-house friends beingin the lower-fourth, ths form above him), soon gained golden opinions from his mus- ter, who said he was placed too low, and should be put out at the end of the half year. So ali went well with him iu School, aud he wrote the most flourishing letters home to his mother, full of his own success, 2nd the unspeakable delights of a public school. In tho house, too, all went well. Theendof the half-year was drawing near, which kept every- body in a good humor, and the house was ruled well and strongly by Warner and Brooke. ‘rue, the general system was rough and hard, and there was bullying in nooks and corners, bad signs for the future, but it never got farther, or dared show itself openly, staiking about the pas- sages and hall and bedrooms, and making the life of the small boys a continual fear. Tom, as a new boy, was of right exeused fag- ging for the first month, but in his enthusiasm for his new life this privilége hardly please t him; and East and others of his young friends discov- ering this, kindly allowed him to indulge his fan- ey, and take their turns at night-fagging and cleaning studies. These were the principal duties of the fags in the house. From supper until nind o’clock three fags taken in order, stood in the passages and answered any praeposter who called fag, racing to the door, the last comer having to do the work. This consisted generally of going to the buttery for beer and bread and cheese (for the great men did not sup with the rest, but had each his own allowance in his study or the fifth- form room), cleaning candlesticks and putting in new candles, toasting cheese, bottling beer, and carrying messages about the house; and Tom, iu the first blush of his hero-worship, felt it a high privilege to receive orders from, and be the bear- er of the supper of old Brooke. And besides this night work, each preepostor had tures orfour fags specially allotted to him, of whom hs was supposed to be the guide, philosopher and friend, and who in return for these good offices had to clean out his study every morning by turns, di- reetly after first lesson and before he returned trom breakfast. And the pleasure of seeing the great men’s studies, and looking attheir pictures and peeping into their bo ks, mide Tom a ready substitute for any boy who was too lazy to do his own work. And so he soon gained the char- acter of @ good-natared willing fellow, who was ready to do a turn for any one. In all the games too he joined with all his heart, and soon became well versed in all the mysteries of football, by continual practice at the school- house littie-side, which played daily. The only incident worth recording here, aow- ever, was his first ran at Hare-and-hounds. On the last Tuesday but one of the half-year, he was passing through tho hall after dinner, when he was hailed with shouts from Tadpole and several orher fags seated at one of the Jong tables, the Pete of which was, “Come and help us tear up scent. Tom approached the table in obedience to the mysterious summons, always ready to help, and found the party engaged in tearing up old news- papers, copy-books, and magazines into small pieces, with which they were filling four large canvas bags. ‘It’s the turn of our house to find scent for big- ers with those of young Brooke anid Thorne, and started off at a long shoging trot across tac tields in the direction of Barby. Then the hounds clustered round Thorne, wio explained shortly, *‘They’re to have six minuies’ law. We run into the Cock,and every one whe comes in within a quarcer of an hour of the hares’ll be cousted, if has been round Barby Cuurch.” Then caine atoinute’s pause or so, aud then the watches are pocketed, und the pack is led through the gate-way into the ficid which the hares had first crossed. Here they bvreak intoa trot, scattering over the tiell to ud tuo first traces of the svent whica tus hares throw out as they goalong. Tao old hounds make straigho for the likely, points, and in a minute a ery of “for- ward” comes frum one of then, and tae wiolo pack quickening their pace make for tue spot, While the boy who hit tho scenf first, and the twe or turee nearest to lim, are over tuv first fence, and making play along the hedge-ruwija the long * grass-field beyond. Tue rest of the pack rash at the gap already mado, and scrimbie through, jostling one another. “Forward” again, befom they are half through; the pace quickens into @ sharp run, the tail hounds’all straining to get up to the lucky leaders. They are gullant hares, and the scent lies thick right across another meadow und into a ploughed tield, where the pace bexing to tell; then over a good wattle with a ditch on the ovher side, and dawa a large pasture studded with old thorns, Which slopes down to the first brook; the great Leicestershire sheep charge away across the field as the pack comes racing down the slope. Tho brook is a small one, and the scent hes right ahead up the opposite siope, and as thick as ever; not a turn or a check to fuvor the tail houuds, wuo strain on, now trailing in a long line, many @ youngster beginning to drag his legs heavily, and feel his heart break like a hammer, and the bad plucked ones thinking that after all it isn’t worth whiie to keep it up. Tom, East, and the Tadpole had a good start, and ure well up for such young bands, and, after rising the slope and crossing the next tield, find themselves up with the leading hounds, who have overrun the scent, and are trying back; they have come a inile anda half in about eleven minuies, a pace which shows thatitis thelast day. About twenty-five of the original starters only show here, the rest having already givenin; the lead- ers are busy making casts into the fields on the hho right, and the others get their second winds. Tuen comes the ery of “forward” again, from Young Brooke, from the extreme left, aud the ack settles dowa to work again steadily and oggedly, the whole keeping pretty well together, Tuo scent, though still good, is not so thick ; there is no need of that, for iu this part of the run every one knows tho line which must be taken and so there are no casts to be made, but good. downright running and fencing tobe done. Alb who are now up mean coming in, and they come to the foot of Barby Hill without losing more than two or three more of the pack. This last straight two miles and a kLalfis always a vantage- ground for the hounds, and the hares know it well; they are generally Viewed on the side of Barby Hil, and all eyes are ou tbe loo. § for them to-day. But notasign of them appe Ws, so now will be the hard work for the hounds, and there is nothing for it but to cast about for the scent, for it is now the hares’ tura, and they may bafile the pack dreadfully in the next two miles. Iii fares 1f now with our youngsters that they are school-house boys, and so follow Young. Brooke, for he takes the wide casts round to the lefi, conscious of his own powers, and Joving the hard work. Forit you would consider for a mo- mé@ur, you small boys, you would ree a that tae Cock, where the run ends, and tne good ale. Will be going, lies far out to the right on the |
Page 16
16 TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS. Dunehureh road, so that every cast you take to] the leftis so much extra work. And at this stage of therun, when the evening is closing in already, no one remarks whether you run alittie cunniag ornot,so you shouid stick to thos® crafty hounds who keep edging away to the right, and nos fol- jow a prosigal like Youug Brooke, whose legs are twice aslongas yours, and of cast-iron, wholly indifferent to oue or two miles more orless. How- ever, they struggle after him, sobbing and piuug- ing along, Tom and Eust pretty close, and Tad- pole, whose big head begins to pull him down, some thirty yards behind. Now comesa brook, with stiff clay banks, from which they can lardly drag their legs, and they hear faint cries for help from the wretched Tad- pole, who has fairly stuck fast” But they have too little run left in themselves to pull up for their own brothers. Three fields more and another eheck, and then “forward” called away to the extreme right. The two boys’ souls dio within them; they can never doit. Young Brooke thinks sq too, and says kindly, ‘‘ You’ll cross a Jane after next field, keep down it, aud you’!] hit the Duncburen road below the Cock,” and then steams away for the runin, in which be’s sure to be first, as if he were just starting. They struggle on across the next field, the “forward” getting fainter,and fainter, and then ceasing. The whole huntis out of earshot, and all hopes of coming in is over. a an it all,” broke out East, as soon as he had got wind enough, pulling off his hat, and mop- ping at his face, allspattered with dirt, and lined with swe.t, from which wentup a thick stream in- to the stillcold air, “I told you how it would be. What athick I was to come! Here we are dead beat, and yet I know we’re close to the run in, if we knew the country.” “Well,” said Tom, mopping away, and gulping down his disappointment, “it can’t be helped. We did our best, anyhow. Hadn’t we better find this lane, and go down itas Young Brooke told us?” “T suppose so—nothing else for it,” grunted East. “It ever I go out last day again,” growl— growl—growl. So they tried back slowly and sorrowfully, and found the lane and went limpiug downit, plash- ingin the cold puddly ruts, and beginning to feel how the run had taken1t out of them. The eve- ning closed in fast, and clouded over, dark, cold, and dreary. “T gay, it must be locking-up, I should think,” remarked Eust, breakmg tne silence; “It’s so dark.” “Whatif we’re late?” said Tom. “No tea, and sent up to the Doctor,” answered St. The thought didn’t add to their cheerfulness. Presently a faint halloo was heard from an ad- joining field. They answered it, and stopped, hoping for some competent rustic to guide them, when over a gate some tweuty yards ahead, crawled the wretched Tadpole, in a state of col- japse; he had lost a shbe in the brook, and had been groping after it up to his elbows in the stiff, wet clay, and a more miserable creature in the shape of boy seldom has been seen. The sight of him, notwithstanding, cheered them, for he was some degrees more wretched than they. They also cheered him, as he was no longer under the dread of passing his night alone im the fields, And so in better heart, the three plashed painfully down the never-ending lane. At last it widened, just as utter darkness set in, and they came ous on a turn-pike road, and there paused bewildered, for they had lost all bearings, und knew not whether to turn to the rightor left. Luckily for them they had not to decide, for lumbering along the road, with one lamp lighted, and two spavined horses in the shafts, camo a heavy coach, which after a moment’s suspense they recoxnized as the Oxford coach, the redoubt- able Pig and Whistle. It lumbered slowly up, and the boys fnusterea their last run, caughtit as it passed, and began elainbering up behind, in which exploit Bast missed his footing, and fell flav on his nose along the road. Then the others hailed the old scare- crow of a coachmuan, who pulled up and agreed to take them in fora shilling; so there they sat on the back seat, drubbing with their heels, and their teeth chattering with cold, and jogged into Rugby some forty minutes after iockmg-up. Five minutes afterwards, three small limping sluvering figures steal along through the Doctor’s partons aud into the house by the servants’ en- rane (all the other gates have been closed long since), where the first thing they light upon in thé passage 1s old Thomas, ambling along, candle in one hand and keys im the other. He stops aud examines their condition with a erim smile, ‘An! Hast, Hall, and Brown, late for locking-up, Must go up to the Doctor’s study aAWell but, Th ell but, omas, mayn’t we go and wash first? You car put down the time, ou kuow.” “Doctor’s study d’rectly you come jn—that’s the orders,” replied old Thomas, motioning to- wards the stairs at the end of the passage which Ted . into the Doctor’s bouse; and the buys turned ruefully down it, not cheered by the old yverger’s muttered remark, “Whata pickle they boys be in!” omas referred to their faces and habiliments, but they construed it as indicating the Doctor’s state of mind. Upon the short flight of stairs they paused to bold counsel. “Who'll go in first?” inquires Tadpole. ‘ J » Nicias’s galleys. ©“ You—you're the senior,” auswered Bast. “Catch me —look at the state I’m in,” rejoined Hali, showing the arms of his jacket. “I must get behind you two,” “Well, but look at me,” said East, indicating tie mass of clay behind which he was standing; “I’m worse than you, two to one; ycu might grow cabbages on my trowsers.” » “That’s all down below, and you can keep your legs behind the sofa,” said Hall. “Here Brown, you’re the show Hgure—you must Irad.” “But my face is all muddy,” argued Tom. “On, we’re allin one boat, for that matter; but come on, we’re only making it worse, dawdling here.” “Well, jast give us a brush then,” said Tom; and they began trying to rub off the superfluous dirt from each other’s jackets, but it was not dry enough, and the rubbing made them worse; so in despair they pushed through the swing door at the head ot the stairs,and found themselves in the Doctor's hall. “Taat’s the brary door,” said East in a whis- per, pusbing Tom forward, The sound of merry voices and laughter came from within, aud his first hesitating knock was unanswered. But at the seconu, the Doctor’s voice said, “‘ Come in,” and Tom turned the handle, and he, with the others behind him, sidled in the room. Tue Doctor looked up from his task; he was working away with a great chisel at the bottom of a boy’s sailing boat, the lines of which he was no doubt fashioning on the model of one of Round him stood three or four children; the candles burnt brightly on a large table at the farther end, covered with books and papers, and 4 great fire threw a ruddy glow over tne rest of the rvom. Ail looked so kindiy aud homely, and comfortable, lhat the boys took heart in @ moment, and Tom advanced trom ve- hind the shelter ef the greatsota. The D ctor uodded to the children, who went out, casting curious and amused glances at the three young scarecrows. “Well, my little fellows,” began the Doctor, drawing himself up with his back to the fire, the cvisel in one hand and his coat-tails in the other, and his eyes twinkling as he Jooked them over; “what makes you so late?” “Please, sur, we’ve been out big-side Hare-and hounds, and lost our way.” “Hah! you couldn’t keep up, I suppose ?” “Well, sir,” said East, stepping out, and not liking that the Doctor should think lightly of his running powers, ‘we got round Barby all rignt, but then—” “Why, whata state you’re in, my boy !” inter- rupted the Doctor, as the pitiful condition of East’s garments was fully revealed to him. “Phat’s the fall I got, sir, in the road,” said East, looking down at himself; ‘‘ the old Pig came by: “The what?” said the Doctor. “The Oxtord coach, sir,” explained Hall. “Hah! yes, the Regulator,” said the Doctor. “And I tumbled on my face, tryimg to get up behind,” went ou Bast. “You’re not hurt, I hope?” said the Doctor. “On no, sir.” “* Well, now, run up Stairs, all three of you, and get clean things on, and then tell the house- keeper to give you some tea. You're too young to try such long runs. Lef Warner kuow I’ve seen you. Good-imignt.” “Goou-nigiat, sir.” boye in high glee. “What a brick, not to give us even twenty lines to learn!” said tae Tadpole, as they reached their bedroom; and in haif an your afterwaras they were sitting by the fire in tue housekeeper’s room at a sumpcuous tea, with cvid meat, “twice as good grub 4s we should have got io the halt,” as the Tadpole remarked wita a grin, his wouth fall of buttered toast. All their grievances were tor- gotten, and they were resolyiug to go ouc the first big-side next halt, and thinking Hare-and- hounds the most delightful of games. And away scuttled the three A day or two aflerwWacas the great passage out- | side the bedro’ ywere Cleared of the boxes and portmunteaus, azica went down to be packed by the gimatron, and great games of charivt-racing, and cock-fighting, und bolstering went on lu the vacant space, the sure sign of a closing half-year. Then Game the making up of parcies for the journey home, and Tom joined u party who were to hire a coach, aud post with four horses to Oxford, Then the last Saturday on which the Doctor came round to each turm oO give out the prizes, and hear the masters’ last reports of how they and their charges had been conducting them- selves; and Vom, to his huge deligut, was praised, and got his remove into the lower courtu, ia which all his Scuool-uvuses trends were. Oa the next Luesday mornivg, at four o’clock, hot coffee was goiog on in tle uuusekeuper’s uid matronu’s rouins; boys wrapped in great coats aud mutiers were swallowing hasty mouthfuls, rush- lng uboutl, tumoung over luggage, and asking questions all ab once of tue mavron; outside the Schoolegates were drawn up several chaises, and the four-horse-cdaeh which Vom’s party had char- tered, the post-boys in their best jackets and breeches, and a Cornopean player, lured for the occasion, blowing away “A southerly wind and a cloudy sky,” waking all peaceful Inhabitants half-way down tue High-Street. Every minute the bustle and hubbub increased; porters staggered about with boxes and bags, tha | cornopean played louder. Old Thomas sat in bis den with a great yellow bag by his side, oui of which he was paying journey-money to each boy, |comparing by the light of a solitury dip the dirty erabbed little list in his own handwriting, with the doctor’s list, and the amount of his cash; his head was on one side, his mouth screwed up, and his spectacles dim from early toil. He had prudently locked the door, and carried on tris operations solely through the window, or he would haye been driven wild, and lost all his his money. “Thomas, do be quick, we shall never catch the Highflyer at Dunchureh.” “That’s your mouey, all right, Green.” “Tullo, Thomas, the Doctor said I wasto haya two-pound-ten ; you’ye only given me two pound.” Ifvar that Master Green is not confining himself strictly to truth. Thomas turns his head more on one side than ever, and spells away at the dirty list. Green is forced away from the wiu- dow. “Here, Thomas, nevemmind him, mine’s thirty sbilliags.” ‘ And mine too.” ‘And mine,” shouted others. One way or another, the party to which Tom be- l@uged all got packed and paid, and sallied out to the gates, the cornopean playing fraftieally “Drops of Brandy,” in allusion, probably, to tae | Slight potatious in which the musician and posi- boys had been already indulging, “ Robinson’s coach will be down the roadina minute, it has gove up to Bird’s to pick up—we’il Wait till they’re close, and make a race of it,” says the Jeader, “Now, boys, half a sovereign apiece if you beat ’em into Danchuarch by one hundred ards. wa All right, sir,” shouted the grinning post-boys. Down comes Robinson’s coach in @ minute or two wita a rival cornopean, and away go the two yehicles, horses galloping, boys cheering, horns playingJoud. There is a special Providence over schoolboys as well as sailors, or they must bave upset twenty times in the first five miles, some- times actually abreast one another, and the boys | on the roofs exchanging volleys of peas now nearly running over a post-chalse which had started before them, now haif way up a bank, now with a wheel-and-a-halt over a yawn- ing ditch; and allthis in a dark morning, with nothing Lut their own lamps to guide them. How- ever, 1t is all over at last, and they have run over nothing but an old pig in Southam street; the list peas are distributed in the Corn Market as Ox- ford, where they arrive between eleven and twelve, and sit down 10 a sumpluous breakfast at the Angel, which they are made to pay for ac- cordingly. Hore the party breaks up, ail going now different ways; and Tom orders out a Ghaiso and pair as graud as a lord, tuough ne has scaresa- ly five shilliugs leftin his pocket, and more thaa tweuty miles to get home. © Where to, sir?” “Red Lion, Farringdon,” says Tom, giving host- ler a shilling. : “Allright, sir. Red Lion Jem,” to the post-loy, and Tomrattles away towards home. As Fap- ringdon, being known to the inkeeper, ho peis that worthy to pay for the Oxford horses, und ior- ward timin another chaise at onve;.audso the gorgeous young gentleman atrives ab tae pater- nal wausion, aud Squire Brown looks rather biue at having to pay two pound ten shillings for the posting expeuses from Oxford. Bat tue boy’s in- tense joy at getting home, and the wonderful health he isin, and the good charactor ho brings, and the brave stories he tells of Rugby, ics doings and deliguts, s00n moilify the Squire, aad three happier people didu’t. 16 down to duiner logetuer that day in Eugland (it is tue boy’s firs dinuer at six o’clock at home, great promotion already,) than the Squire and his wife and Tom Brown, ab the end of his first half year at Rugby, CHAPYER VIII ' DHE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE The lower-fourth form, in which Tom found him. selt at the beginning of tue nexc nalf-year, was the largest form in tue lower schvol, and nau bered upwards ot forty boys. Young gentlemen of aii ages, frou nine to filteen were to bo found taere who expended Sach pari of tucir euergies ay was devoted to Latin aud Greek, upon a bouk of Livy the Buevlics of Virgil, aud tue Hecupa of Bam. pides, wuich were grodud out in small daily por- tions. The driving of this unlucky lower-fourth must have been grievous work to the unfortu- nate master, for it was*the most unhappily eon- stituted of any in the Scuovol. Here stuck the great stupid boys, who for tue life of them eould never muster the accideuce ; the Objects alter- nately of mirth and terror Lo the youngsters, who were daily tuking them up, wud luuguing abthem in lesson, and getting kicked by taew for so doing ia play-hours. here were no less than three un- happy fellows in taileouts, With incipient down on Uneir chins, whom the Doctor and the master of form were always endeavouring to hoistinto the upper school, but whose parsiug and construfag resisted the most well-meant shoves. Then came the mass of the form, boys of eleven and twelve, the most mischievous and reckless age of Britisu youth, of whom East and Tom Brown were fair specimens, As fall of tricks as monkeys, and
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of excuses as Irish women, making fun of their master, one another, aud their lessons, Argus himself would have been puzzled to keep an eye on them; aud as for making them steady or se- rious for half an hour together, 1f was simply hopeless. Theremainder of the form consisted of young prodigies of nine or ten, who were going up the schoolat the rate ofa form a half year, all hoys’ bands and wits being against them in their ‘progress. 3 The lower-fourth and all the forms below it, s~vere heard in the greaf school, and were not trusted to prepare their lessons before coming in but were whipped into school three-quarters o an hour before the lesson began by their respec- tive masters, and there, scattered about on the benches, with dictionary and grammar, hammered out their twenty lines of Virgil aud Euripides, in the midst of Babel, The master3 of the lower school walked up and down the great schvol to- gether, during this three-quarters of an hour, or sat im their desks reading or looking over copies, and keeping such orderas Was possible. But the Jower-fourth was just W an overgrown form, too large for any ove man to attend to properly and consequently the elysium or ideal form of the young scapegraces who formed the staple of Tom,as has been said, had come up from the third with a good charagter, but the temptations of the lower-fourth so proved too strong for him, and he rapidly fellaway and became as un- manugable as the rest. For some weeks, inueed, ue succeeded in maintaining the appearance of steadiness, and was looked upuu favorably by his Lew muster, whose eyes were first opened by the following little incident: Besides the desk which the master himself oc- eupied, there was a large unoceupied desk in the orner of the great school which wus untenanted. Yo rush to seize upon this desk which was as- ‘eended by three sceps, and held four boys, was the great object of ambition of the lower-fourih- «rs; and the contentions for the occupation of it bred such disorder, that atlast the master for- bade its use altogether. This of course, wasa ¢eballenge to the more adventurous spirits to oc- eupy it, aud as it was capacious enough for two boys to lie hid there completely, it was seldom that it remained émpty, notwithstanding the veto, Small holes were cut in tho front, through which ibe occupants watched the mastersas tuey walked up apd down, and as lesson-timo ap- proached, oue boy ata time stole out and down the steps, a8 the masters’ backs were turved, and mingled with the general crowd on the forms be- ‘iow. Tom and Eust had successfully occupied the desk some half-dozen limes, und were grown so reckless that they were in the habit of playing small games with fives’-balis inside, wuen the mas‘ ers were at the other end of the big school. One day as ill-luck would have it, the game be- came more exciting than usual, and the ball slipped through Eust’s fingers, and rolled slowly down the steps and out into the middle of the school, just as the masters turned in their walk and faced round upon the desk. Tho young de- jiuquents watehed their master througna the look- out holes, march slowly down the school straight upon their retreat, while all the boys in the neighbo:hvod cf course stopped their work to dook on, aid “not only were they ignominivusly drawn out, avd Ganed over the hand tueu and there, but their characters for steadiness were gone from that time, However, as they only shared the fate of some three-fourths of the rest of the form, this did nut weigh heavily on them. In fact, the only Occasions on which they care 4 about the matter, were the monthly examina- tions, when the Doctor came round to examine their form, for one long awful hour, in the work which they had done in the preceding month. whe second monthly examination came round soon after Tom’s fall, and it was with anything but lively anticipations that he and the other lower-fourth boys came into prayers on the morn- ing of the exumivation day. 3 Prayers and callmy-over seemed twice as short ’ ag usual, and before they could get construes of a tithe of the hard passages marked in the margin of their books, they were all seated round, ana the Doctor was standing ip the middle, talking in whispers to the muster. Tom couldn’t hear a word which passed, and never lifted his eyes frow bis bouk; but he knew by a sort of magnetic instinct thas the Doctor’s under lip was coming out, and his eye beginning to burn, and his gown wetting gathered up more tightly in his left hand. ‘Tne suspense was agonizing,avud Tom knew that de Was sure On such occasions to Make an exam- ple of the School-house boys. “ If he would only begin,” thought Tom, “I shouldn’t mind.” At last the whispering ceased, »ud the name Which was éalled out was not Brown. He looked up fora moment, but the Doctor’s face was tuo awtul; Tom wouldn’t have met his e)e for ull he Was worth, and buried himself in his book again. The boy who was calied up first was a clever, terry School-house boy, one vf their set: he was Some connection of tle Doctor’s, and a great fay- orite, and ran in and out of his house as ho liked, and so was seleoted for the first victim. ‘Triste lupus stabulis,’ began the luckless Lorin pee and stammered through some eight or “There, that will do,” said the Doctor; “now doneteus.” : ; On common occasions the’ boy could have con- x TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS. | strued the passage well enough probably, but now his head was gone. “Triste lupus, the sorrowful wolf,” he began. A shudder ran through the whole form, and the steps up tothe construer, and gaye him a good box on theear. The blow was nota hardone, but the boy was so taken by surprise that he started hack; the form caught tbe back of hie knees, and over ho went on to the floor behind. There was a and never again while Tom was at school did the Doctor strike a boyin lesson. The provocation musthave been great. However, tho victim bad saved his formivr that occasion, fur the Doctor turned to the top bench, and put on the best boys for the rest of the hour; and though, at the end of the lesson, ho gaye themall such a rating as they did not forget, this terrible field-day passed over Without uny severe visitations in the shape of punishment by floggings. Forty young scape- graces expressed their thanks to the “‘sorrowful wolf” in their different ways before second lesson. But a character for steadiness once gone is not easily recovered, as Tom found, and for years afterwards he went up the school without it, and the masters’ hands were against him, and his against them, And he regarded them, as a matter of course, as his natural enemies. Matters were not so comfortable either in the house as they bad been, for old Brooke left at Christmas, and one or two others of the sixth- torm boys at the following Easter. Tveir rule had been rough, but strong and justin tae main, and a higher standard was beginuing to be set up; in fact, there had been a short foretasre of the good time which followed some yéars later. Just now, however, all thrcatened to return into dark- ness and chaos agaia, Forthe new preepostors were either smail young boys, whose cleverness bad carried them up to the top of the school, while in strength of body and character, they were not yet fit for a share inthe zovernment; or else big tellows of the wrong sort, boys whose friendships and tastes had a downward tendency, who had not caughtthe meaning of their position and work, and felt none of its responsibilities. Sounder this no-government the Scheol-house begin to ses bad times. The big fifth-form boys, who were a sport- ingand drinking set, svon began to usurp power, and tofag the little boys asif they were preepos- tors,and to bullyand oppress any who showed sigus ofresistance. The biggersort of sixth-form boys just described soon made common cause with the fifth, while the smaller sort, hampered by their coileagues’ desertion to the enemy, could not make head against them. So the tags were without their lawful masters and protectors, and ridden over rough-shod by a set of boys whom they were not bound to obey, and whose only right over them stood in their bodily powers; and ag old Brooke had prophesied,the house by degrees broke up into small sets and parties, an‘ lost the strong faeling of fellowship whica he set so much store by,and withit much of the prowess in games, and the lead inallschool matters, which he had done so much to keep up. In no plicoin the world has individual charac- ter more weight than at a public school, Re- member ihis, I beseech you, all you boys who are getting into the upper forms. Now is the time in all your lives, probably, when you may have more wide influence for good or evil on the society you live in, than you ever can have again, Quit yourselves like men, then; speak up, and strike out if necessary for whatsoever is true, and manly, and lovely, and of good report; never try to be popular, but only to do your duty and help others to do theirs, and you may leave the tone of ,fecling in the School higher than youfound it, and so be doing good, which no living soul can measure, to generations of your countrymen yet unborn. For boys follow one another in herds like sheep, for good or evil; they hate thinking and have rarely any settled principles. Every school, indeed, has its own traditionary standard of right and wrong, which can not be tran:gressed with int punity, marking certain things as low and black- guard, aud certain others as lawful and right. This standard is ever varying, though it changes only slowly, and little by little; and, subjoct only to such standard, it is the leading boys for the time being whe give the tone to all tho rest, and make the School either a noble institution for the training of Christian Englishmen, or a place where a young boy will get more evil than he would if he were turned out to make his way in London streets, or any thing between these two extremes, The change for the worse in the School-house, however, didn’t press very heavily on our young- sters for some time; they werein a good bedroom, where slept the only preepostor left who was able to keep thorough ordor, and their study was 1n his passage; 80, though thoy were fagged more or less, and occasionally kicked or euifed by the bullies, they were on the whole well off; and the fresh brave school-life,so full of games, adven- tures, and good fellowship, so ready at forgetting, so capacious at enjoying, so bright at forecasting, outweighed a thousandfold their troubles with the master of their form, and the occasional ill- usage of the big boys in the house. It wasn’t tal some year or 80 after the events recorded above, that the preepostor of their room and passage left. None of the other sixth-form boys would Doctor’s wrath fairly boiled over; he made three | dead silence over the whole school; never herore | A move into their passage, and, to the disgust and indignation of Tom and East, one morning after breakfast they were seized upon by Flashman, and made to carry down bis books and furnitura into the unoccupied study which he had taken, From this timo they began to feel the weight of the tyranny ef Flashman and his friends, and, now that trouble had come home to their own doors, began to look out for sympathizers and partners amongst the rest of the fags ; and mest- ings of the oppressed began to be held, and mur murs to arise, and plots to be laid, as to how they should free themselves and be avenged on their ene:ies. While matters were in this state, Hast and Tom were Ove evening sitting in their studv. Taey had done their work for first lesson,and Tom was ina brown study, brooding, lize a young William Tell, upon the wrongs of fags in general, and his own in particular. “T say, Scud,” said he at last, rousing himself to snuff the candle, “whatrighf have the fifth. form boys’ to fag us as they do?” “No more righo than you haye to fag them,” answered East without looking up from an eariy number of Pickwick, which was just coming out, and which he was luxuriously devouring, stretched on his back op the sofa. Tom relapsed into his brown study, and Hast Went on reading and chuckhug. ‘The contrast of the boys’ faces would have given infivite amusemenét to tie looker-cn, the one so solemn and big with mighty purpose, the other radiant and bubbling over with fun. “Do you know, old fellow, I’ve been thinking it over a goud deal,” began Tom ayain. “Ob yes, [ know, tagging you are thinking of. Hang it all—but listen here, Tom—here’stun. Mr. Winkle’s horse—” “Aud I’ve made up my mind,” broke in Tom, “that I won’t fag except for the sixth.” “Quite right, too, my boy,” cried Hast, patting his finger on the place and looking up; *‘butea pretty peck of troubles you'll get into, if you’re going to play that game. However, I’m all for a strike mnysel!, if We Gun get others to join—itv’s getting too bad.” “Can’t we get some sixth-form fellow to take it up?” asked Tom. “Well, perhaps we might; Morgan would inter- fere, think. Oaly,’ added East, after a moment’s pause, “you see we should fave to tell him about it, and that’s against School principles. Don’t you remember what Oid Brooke said about leagn- ing to tuke our own parts?” “Ah, I wish Old Brooke were back again—it was all rightin his time.” “Why, yes, you see then the strongest and best fellows were in the sixth, and the fifth-form fel- lows were afraid of them, and they kept good order; but now our sixth-form fellows are toa small, and the fifth don’t care for them, and do what they hke in the house.” “And S50 we get a double set of masters,’ cried Tom, indignantly; “the lawful ones, who are responsible to the Doctor at any rate, aud the unlawful—the tyrants, who are responsible te noboay.” “ Down with the tyrants!” cried East, “I’m all for law and order, and hurrah for a revolution !” *“Tshouldn’t mind if it were only tur young Brooke now,” said Tom, “he’s such a good- hearted, gentlemanly follow, and ought to be in the sixth—I’4 do unything for bim, bas that biackguard Flashmau, who never speaks to one without a kick or an 6ath—” “The cowardly brute,” broke in Hast, “how I hate him. And he knows it too—he kuows that you and I think him a coward. - What a boro that he’s got a study in this passage! don’t you hear them now at supper in his den? Brandy punch going, Pll bet. L wish the Doctor would come out and Gatch him. We mus. change our study a3 8000 as We Can.” “Change or no change, I'll never fag for Lyn again,” said Lom, thumping the table. “ Pa-a-a-ag!l” sounded along the passage from Flasiman’s study, The two boys looked at one another in silenee, It had struck nine, so there- gular nignt-fags had tere duty, and they were tae nearest to the supper party. East sat up and be- gan to look comical, as he always did under diffi- culties. “ Fa-a-a-a-ag!” again. No answer. “Here, Brown! East! you cursed young skuiks,” roared out Flasnman, coming to his open door, * Il know you’re in—no shirking.” Tom stole to their door and drew the bolts as noiselessly as he could; East blew out the candle. “Barricade the first,” whispered he, “Now, Tom, wind, uo surrender.” n : Lt ss me for that,” said Tom, between his eeth. : In another minute they heard the supper party turn out and come down the passage to their. door. They held their breaths, and hear@ whis- pering, of which they only made out Flashman’s words, “I know the young brutes are iu.” Then came summonses to open, which being un- answered, the assault commenced: luckily the door was a good strong oak one, and resisted the united weight of Fiasaman’s party. A pause fol- lowed, and they heard a besieger remark, ‘* They’re -in safe enough—don’t you see how the door holds -actop-and bottom: so the bolts soust be drawn, We shouid have foreed the lock long ago.” Eust gave Tom a gudg+ to call attention to this seiem tiflu remark. ;
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18 TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS Then came attacks on particular panels, one of which at last gave way to repeated kicks; but it broke inwards, and the broken pieces got jammed across, the door being lined with green baize, and eouldn’t easily be removed from outside; andthe besieged, soorning further concealment, strength- ened their defences by pressing the end of their sofa against the door. So, after one or two morg ineffectual efforts, Flashman & Co, retired, vow- ing vengeance in no mild terms. The first danger over, it only remainéd for the besieged to effect a safo retreat, as it was now near bedtime. They listened intently, and heard the supper party resetile themselves, and then ntly drew back first one bolt and then the other. Praventhy the convivial noises began again stead- ily. ‘Now, then, stand by for a run,” said East, throwing the door wide open and rushing into the passage, closely followed by Tom. They were too quick to be caught, but Flashman was on the look-out, and sent an empty pickle jar whizzing after them, whioh narrowly missed ‘Tom’s head,” and broke into twenty pieces at the end of the passage. “ Ho wouldn’t mind killing one, if he wasn’t caught,” said: East, as they turned the corner. ' There was no pursuit, so the two turned into the hall, where they found a knot of smalt boys round the fire. Their story was tolu—tho war of independence had broken out—who would join the revolutionary forces? Several others present bound themselves not to fag for the fifth form at once. One or two only edged off, and left the rebels. What else could they do? “I’ve a good mind to goto the Doctor straight,” said Tom. “Phat’il never do—don’t you remember the levy of the School last half?’ put in another. Infact, the solemn assembly, a levy of the School, had been held, ab which tho captain of the School kad got up, and, afcer premising that several instances had cakarcod of matters having been reported to the masters, that this was against public morality and School tradition; that a levy of the sixti had been held on the sulject, and they had resolved that the practice must be stupped at ones; and given ous that any | boy, in whatever form, who should thenceforth appeal to a master, without having first gone to some prepostor snd laid the case bofore aim, should be thrashed publicly, aud seut to Coy- be Ms “Well, then, let’stry the sixth. ‘Try Morgan.’’ suggested another. ‘ No use.’— Biabbing wou’t ac,” was the general feeling. “Vl give you fellows a piece of advice,” said a voice from the end of the hall. They all turned round with a start, and the speaker got up from a bench on which he had been lying unobserved, and gave himself a shake; he was a big loose- made fellow, with huge limbs which had grown too far through his jacket and trowsers. ‘‘ Don’t you go to any body at all—you just stand out; say you won’t fag—thoy’ll soon get tired of lick- ing you. I’ve tried iton years ago with their forerunners.” “No! did you? Toil us how it was,” cried a chorus of voices, as they clustered around him, “Well, just as it is with you. ‘Lhe flith form would jag us, and I and some more struck, and we beat ’em. The good fellows left off directly, and the bullies who kept on svon got afraid.” “Was Flashman here then ?”’ 5 “Yes! and a dirty little snivelling, sneaking fellow he was too. He never dared join us, and used to toady the bullies by offering to fag tor thew, and preaching against the rest Jf us,” “Why wasn’t he cut, then?’ said East. “Oh, toadies never get cut, they’re too useful. Besides, he bas no end of great hampers from home, with wine and game in them; so he toadied and ted himself into favor.” ‘rhe quarter-to-ten bell now rang, and the small boys weut off up stairs, still consulting together, aud praising their pew counsellor, whostretcbed bimself out on, the bench before the Hall tire again. There le lay, a very queer specimen ot boyhood, by name Digzs, and familiarly called “(ie Mucker.” He was young fer bis size, and a very clever fellow, nearly at the top of the fifth, Hisfriends at home, having regard, I suppose, to his age, and not to his size and place in tue School, badn’t put him into tails; and even his jackets were all tou small; and he bad a taient for destroying clothes, and making himself look shabby. He wasn’ton terms with Flashinan’s set, waosneered ac bis dress and ways behind his back, which he knew, and revenged bhinisel! by asking Fiashman the most disagreeable questions, and ureating him familiarly whenever a crowd of boys were rountt him, Neiner was he ivtimate _ with any of the other bigger boys, who were warued off by his oddness, tor he was very queer fellow; besides amongst other failings, he had that of impecuniosity in a remarkable degree. Ke brought as much money us vther boys to the school, bub got rid of ibin no time, no ove knew how. And, belug also reckless, vorrowed from any oue, aud when bis debts accumulated and creditors pressed, would have an auction at the Hall of every thing he possessed in the world, selling even his school-books, candlesticks, auu study table. For weeks afcer oue of these auc- tions, having rendered his study uninhabitable, he would live avout in the fifth-form room and Hall, doing his verses on old letter-backs and odd scraps of paper, and learving his lessons no one knew how. He never meddled with any little boy, aud was popular with them, though they all looked on him with a sort of a compassion, erd| crawn then towards old Diggs, who, inan uneouth ealled bim “poor Diggs.” not being able to resist appearances, or to disregard wholly even the sneers of their enemy Flashman. However, he seemed equally indifferent to the sneers of Lig boys and the pity of small ones, and lived bisown queér life with much apparent evjoyment tahim- self. It is necessary to introduce Driggs thus particularly, as he not only did Tom and Hast good service in their present warfare, as is about to be told, but soon afterwards, when he got into the sixth, chose them for his fags, and excused them from study-fagging, thereby earning unto himself eternal gratitude from them, and all who are interested in their history. . And seldom had smail boys more need of a friend, for the morning after the siego the storm burst upon the rebels in all its violence. Flash- man laid wait, and caught Tom before second lesson, and receiving a point blank “No,” when told to feroh his hat, seized him and twisted his arm, and went through the other methods of tor- ture in use: “ He couldu’t make me cry, tho’,” as Tow said triumphantly to the rest of the rebels, “and I kicked his shins well, [know,” And soon it crept out that a lot of the tags were in league, and Flashman excited his associates to join him in bringing the young vagabonds to their senses ; and the house was filled with constant chasings, and sieges, and lickings ofall sorts; andin return, the bullies’ beds were were pulled to pieces, and drenched with water, and their names written up on the walls with every insulting epithet which the fag invention could furnish. Tho war in short raged fiercely ; but soou, as Diggs had told them, ail the better fellows in the fifth guve up trying to fag them, and public feeling began to set against Flashman and his two or three inti- mates, and they were obliged to keep their doings more seeret, but being thorough bad fellows, missed no opportunity of torturing in private. Flashman was au adept in all ways, but above all in the power of saying cutting and cruel things, aod could often bring tears to the eyes of boys in this way, which all the thrashings in the world wouldn’t have wruug from them. And as his operations were being cut short in other directions, he now devogd himself chiefly to Tom and ast, who lived at is own door, and would force himself into their study whenever he fouud a chance, and sit there, sometimes alone, and sometimes with a companion, interrupting all their work, and exulting m the evident pain which every vow and then he could see he was in- flicting on one or the other. The storm had cleared the air for the rest of the house, and a better stare of things now began than there had been since Old Brooke had left; but an avgry dark spot of thunder-cloud. sfill hung over the end of the passage, where Flasb- man’s study and that of East and Tom lay. He felt that they had been the first rebels, and that the rebellion had been to a great extent suc- cessful; but what above all stirred the hatred and bitterness of his heart against them was that, in the frequent collisions which there had been of late, they had openly called him coward and sneak—tho taunts were too true to he forgiven. While be was in the act of thrashing them, they would roar out instances of his funking at foot- ball, or shirking some encounter with a lout of hatf his own size. These things wre all weil enough known in the house, but to have his own disgrace shouted out by small boys, to feel that they despised him, to be unable to silence them by any amount of torture, and to sev the open laugh and sneer of his own associates (who were looking on, and took no trouble to hide their scorn from him, though they nether imterlered with his bullying or lived a bit the less intimately with him), wade him beside himself. Come what might, he Would make those boys’ lives misera- ble. So the strife settled down into a personal at- fair between Flasbman and our youngsters; a war tothe kuife,to be fought out in the lite cockpit at the end of the bottom passage. Flashman, be it said, was about seventeen years old, and big and strong of his age. Ho played well at all games where pluck wasn’s much wanted, and managed generally to keep up ap- pearances where 1b was; and having a bluff, off- hand manner, which passed for heartiness, and considerable powers of being pleasant when be liked, went down with the school in general for a good fellow enough. Even in the School-house, by dint of his command of money, the constant supply of good things which he kept up, and his adroit toadyism, ho had managed to make himself nob only tolerated but rather popular amongst his own contemporaries; although Young Brooke scarcely spoke to him, and one or two others of the right sort showed their opinions of him when- eyer a chance otfered. Bat the wrovg sort hap- pened to be in the ascendant just now, and so Flashman was a formidable enemy to small boys. Tuis soon became plain enough, Flashman lest po slander unspoken, and no deed undone, which could in any way hurt his victims, or isolate them from the rest of the house. One by ene most or the other repels feilaway from them, while Flash- man’s case prospered, and-several other fifth- form boys began to look black at them andill-treat them us they passed around the house. By keep- ing out of Lounds, or at all eveuts out of the Louse aud quadrangle, all“dey, and carefully barring themselves in at night, Mast and Tom managed to hold on without feeling wery miserabie; but it was ag much as they could do, Greatly were they wiy, bean ro take a good dea! of notice of tham, anc oneo cr twiee came to their study when Fiasiioian was there, who immediately decamped im consequence, The boys thought that Diggs: must have been watching, CHAPTER IX. Flashman orutality and bullying had disgusted most even of his intimate friends, ind his cowar- dice was once more made plain to the House: for Diggs had encountered him on the morning. after /, a fresh outrage (the victim of which was Tom, who had been brutally roasted by him, as a fag, on aec- count of a slight disagreement), and after high words on both sideshad struck him, and the blow was not returned, However, Flaghey was not un- used to this sort of thing, aud had lived through as awkward affairs before, and, as Diggs had bastte had fed and toadied himself back mto favor again. The embers of Flashman’s wrath against Tom and East, however, were still smouldering, and burst out every now and then in sly blows and taunts, and they both felt that they hadn’t qnite done with him yet. It wasn’t long, however, before the last act of that drama came, and with if the end of bullying for Tom and Bast at Rugby. They now offen stole out intgpthe Hall at nigurs, in- cited thereto, partly by the hope of finding Dicgs there and having a taik with him, partly by toe excitement of doing something which was against rules, for, sad to say, both of our youngsters, since their loss of character for steadiness in their fornf,. had got into the habit of doing things which were forbidden, as a matter of adventure; just in the samo way, I should fancy, as men fall info smug- gling, and for the same sort of reasons—thougut- lessness in the first place. It never occurred to them to consider why such and such rules were laid down; the reason was nothing to them, aud they only looked upou rules as a sort of challenge from the rule-makers, which it would be rather bad pluck in them not to aceapt; and then again, in the lower part of thoschool they hadn’tenough todo. Tho work of the form they could manage to get through pretty easily, keeping a good enough place to get their regular yearly remove ; and not having much ambition beyond this, their whole superfluous steam was available for games and scrapes. Now, one rule of the House whieh it was a dally pleasure of all such boys to break, was that after supper all faga, except the three on. duty in the passages, shou.d remain in their studies until nive o’clock; and if caught about the passages or Hall, or in one anotner’s studies, they were liable to punishments or caning. Tno rule was stricter than its observance; for most of the sixth spent their evenings in the fitch form room, where the Nbrary wus, and the lessons were learnt in common. Every now and then, hov- ever, a prepostor would be seized with a fit of district visiting, und would make a tour of the passages and Hall, and the fugs’ studies. Then,. if the owner were entertaining a friend or two, the first kick at the door and ominous “Open here” had the effectof the shadow of a hawk over a chicken-yard; every onecut to cover—oue small boy diving under the sofa, anvther under the table, while the owner would hastily pull down a. book or two and openthem, and ery outin a meek. voice, “ Hallo, who’s there ?” casting an anxious. eye round, to see that no protruding leg or elpow coulda betray tbe hidden boys. “Open sir, direcé- ly; ivs Snooks!” “Oh, Vm sorry; I didn’t know it was you, Svooks;” aud then, with wellteigned zeal, the door would be opened, young Hopeful praying that that beast Snooks mightn’t have heard the scuffle caused by his coming. If a study was empty, Suooks proceeded to draw the pass- ages aud Hull to find the truants, Well, one evening in forbidden hours, Tom and East were in the Hall. They occupied (he seats. before the tire nearest the door, wile Diggs. sprawled as usual before the farther fire. e wus busy with a copy ot verses,and Kast and Tom were chatting together in whispers by the light of the fire, and splicing a favorite old tives*- bat which had sprung. Presently a step came down the bottom passage; they listened a mo- ment, assured themselves that it wasn’t a pize- postor, and then went on with their work, and the door swung open, and in walked Flashman, He didn’t see Diggs, and thought it a good chance. to keep his hand in; and as the boys didn’t move for him, struck one of them, to make them get out of his way. “What's that for?” growled the assaulted one. “Because I choose. You’ye no business here; fo to your study,” “You can’t send us.” “Can’t I? Then ll thrash yuu if you stay,” said Flashman, savagely. “TI say, you two,” said Diggs, from tho end of the Hall, rousing up and resting himself on his elbow, “ you'll never getrid of that fellow till you hickhim. Goin at him, both of you—[’ll see fair play.” Flashman was taken aback, and retreated two steps. East looked at Tom. *‘Suull wo ify,” said. he. Yes,” suid Tom, desperately. So the two advancéed on Fiashmun, with Gleucaed fists and beating hearts. They were about up to his shewl- der, but tough boys of their age, andin perfect. training; while he, though strong and big, wasin poor condition from his monstvous habit of stati ing and want of exercise. Cuward as he was.
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ee eee «Be ee ee ho wever, Fiashman couldn’t swallow such an in- sult as this; besides ho wus confident of haying easy work, and'so faced tho boys, saylug, ‘You impudent young blackenards! ”’ Before he could finish his abuse, they rushed in on him, aniwbegan ummelling at all of him which they could reach, € hit out wildly andsavagely, but the full force of his blows didn’t tell, they were too near him, It was long odds, though, in point of strength, and in another minute Tom went spinniug backward over a form,and Fiashmun turned to demolish East, with asavage grin. But now Diggsjumped down from the table on which he had seated him- self. “Stop there,” shouted he, “the round’s over —half a minute time allowed.” “What the—isit to you?” faltered Flashman, who began to lose heart. “Tm going to see fair, I tell you,’ said Diggs with a grin, and snapping his great red fingers; “*tain’t fair for you to be fighting one of them at atime. Are youready, Brown? Time’s up.” The small boys rushed in again. Closing they saw was their best chance, and Flashman was wilder and more flurrjed than ever: ho caught Bast by the throat, and tried to force him back on the iron-bound table ; Tom grasped his waist and remembering the old throw he had learnec in the Vale tromh Ets Wioburn, crooked his leg inside Flastman’s, aad threw bis whole weight forward. Thethree tottered fora moment, and then over they went on to the floor, Flashman striking his head against a form in the Hall The two youngsters aprang to their legs, but he lay thero slill. They began to be frigh tened. Tom stooped down, and then cried out, scared out of his wits, ‘‘ He’s bleeding awfully ; come here, East, Diges—be’s dying!” “Not he,” said Diggs, getting leisurely off the tabio; “it’s allsham—he’s only afraid to fight it out.” East was as frightened as Tom. Diggs lifted Fiashwan’s head, and he groaned. “What's the matter?” shouted Dicgs. «My skull’s fractured,” sobbed Flashman “Oh, let me run for the housekeeper,” cried Tom. “ What shall we do?” “ Widdlesticks | it’snothing but the skin broken,” said the relentless Diggs, feeling his head. ‘Cold water anda bit of rag’s all he’ll want.” “Let me go,” said Flashman, surlily, sitting up; “T don’t want your help.” “We're really very sorry,” began East. “Hang your sorrow,” answered Flashman, holding his handkerchief to the place; “‘you shall pay for this, I can tell you, both of you.” and he walked out of the Hall. “To can’t bo very bad,’ said Tom with a deep sich, much relieved to see his enemy march so well. “Not he,” said Diggs, “and you'll see you won’t be troubled with him any more. But, IL say, your head’s broken 1too—your collar is covered with bleod.” “Ts it, though ?” said Tom, putting up his hand; “T didn’t know it.” “Well, mop it up, or you'll have your jacket spilt. And you have got a nasty eye, Scud; you'd better go aud bathe it well in cold water.” “Cheap enough, too, if we’ve done with our old friend Flashey,” said East, as they mado off up stairs to bathe their wounds. ‘ey had done with Flashman in one sense, for be never laid fluger on either of them again; vot whatever harma spiteful hearé and Veuor- ous tongue could dv them, he took care should be done. Only throw dirt enough, and some ot if is sure to stick; andsoit was with the fifth form and the bigger boys in genera!, With whom ho as- sociated more or less, aud they notatall, Filash- man managed to get Tom aud Eastinto distavor, which did not wear off for somo time after the author of it had disappeared from the School world. This event, wuch prayed fér by the small fry in general, took piace afew mouths after the above encounter. One fine summer eyenin Flashman bad been regaling himself on a gin- punch, at Brownsover; aud having exceeded his uswil limits, started home uproarions, He fell in wih afriend or two coming back from bathing, proposed a glass of beer, to which they assentea, the weather being ho’, and they thirsty souls, and uoaware of the quuutity of drink which Flash- man had already on board. Thoshort result was, that Flashey became beastly drunk; they tried to get him along, but couldn’t; so they chartered a@hurdle andtwo men to carry him. One of tne masters came upon them, and they naturally enough fled. The flight of the rest raised the master’s suspicions, and the good angel of tue fags incited him to examine the freight,and, after examination, to convoy the hurdle himself up to the School-house; and the Doctor, who had long liad his eye on Flashman, arranged for his with- dPawul next morning. The evil that men, and boys too, do, lives after them: Flashman was gone, but our boys, as hint- ed above, still felt the effects of his hate. Be- Sidos, they had been the movers ot the strike against unlawtul faggiug. The cause was right- eous—tho result had been (triumphant to a great exient; but the best of the fifth, even those w had never fagged tho smuil boys, ox had given the practice cheerfully, couldn’t belp feeling a sual grudge against the fiest rebels. After all, their form had been defled—on just grounds, no doubt 3 Fo Just, indeed, thut ney ton at “oned to pekuowledged the wrong, and remained pussive nthe sirite; had they sided with Flashman and TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAY2. his set, the: rebels must have given way at once. | They couldn’t help, on the whole, being glad that they had so acted, and that the resistance had been successful against such of their own form as had shown tight; they felt that law and order had gained thereby, but the ringleaders they couldn’t quite pardon at once. “ Confoundedly coxy thoso young rascals will get, if we don’t mind,” was the general feeling. So itis and must be always, my dear boys. If the Angel Gabriel were to come do wm from heaven, and head asuccessful riso against the most abomi- nablo aid unrighteous vested interest which this poorold world groans under, Le would mostcer- tainly lose his character for many years, proba- bly tor centuries, not only with the upholders of said vested interest, but ‘with the respectable mass Of the people whom he had delivered. They wouldn’t ask him to dinner, or let their names appear with his in the papers; they would be very carefulhow they.spoke of himin the Palaver, or at their clubs. What can we expect, then, when we have ouly poor gallant blundering men like Kossuth, Garibaldi, Mazzini, and righteous causes which do not triumph in their hands; men who haye holes enough in their armor, God knows, easy to be hit by respectabilities sitting in their lounging clairs, and having large balances at their bankers? But you are brave gallant boys, who hate easy-chairs, and have no balances or bankers. You only want to have your head set straight, to take the right side; so bear itin mind that majorities, especially respectable ones, aro nino times out of ten in the wrong, and that if you see a man or boy striving earnestly on the - weak side, however wrong-headed or blundering he may be, you «re not to go and join the cry against him, If you can’t join him and help him, and wake him wiser, at any rate remember that be has found something in the world which hv will fight and suffer tor, which is just what you have got to do for yourselves; and so think and speak of him tenderly. So East and Lom, the Tadpole, and one or two more became a sort of young Ishmaelhites, their hands against every one, avd every one’s hand against them. It has been already told how they gotto war with the masters and tho fifth form, and with the sixth it wasmuch the same, They saw the preepustors cowed by orjoining with the fifth, and sbirkin.«theirown duties ; soihey didn’t respect them, aud rendered no willing obedience, Ic had been One thing to clean Oub studics for sons of heroes like OL. Brooke, but wa3 quite an- other to do the lko for Snooks and Green, who had never faced a good scrummage at football, and couldn’t keep the passages in order at mgt. So they only slurred through their fagging just well cuough to escape a licking, and nob always thar, and got the Character of sulky, unwilling fags. In the fiftn-form room, after supper, when such matiers were often discussed and arranged, their names were for ever coming np. “Tsay, Green,” Snooks began ono night, “isn’t that new boy, Harrison, your tag ?” “Yes; why?” . _“Ob, Lf know something of him at home, and should like to excuse him—will you swop ?” “Who will you give met” “Well, let’s see, there’s Willis, Johnson—No, that won’tdo. Yes, I have it, there’s young East; TU give you him.” : “Don’t you wish you may get it?” replied Green. “Vll give you two for Willis, if you like.” “Who then?” asks Suooks. “Hall and Brown.” “Wouldn’t bhava ’em ata gift.” “Better than Hist, though; for they ain’t quite so sharp,” suid Green, getting up and leaning bis back against the mantel-piece—hoe wasn’t a bad fellow, aud couldn’t help nob being able to put down the unruly fifth form. His eye twinkled ag he wenton,‘‘ Did I ever tell you Low ths young vagabond sold me last half?” **No—how !” “Well, he never half cleaned my study out, only just stuck the candlesticks in the cupboard, and swept the crumbs on the floor, So at last rt morial angry, and had him up, and made him go through the whole performance under my eyes: the dust the young scamp made nearly choked me, and showed that Le hadu’t swept the carpet be-. fore. Well, when it was all finished, ‘Now, young gentleman,’ says I, ‘mind, lexpectthis to be done every Inormnug—floor swept, twble-cloth taken off and shaken, and every thingdusted,’ ‘ Very well,’ grunts he. Not a bit of it, thougna—I[ was quite sure in & day or two that he never took the table- cloth off even. Sof laid a trap for him: I tore up some paper and pat half a dozen bits on my table one night, and the cloth over them as usual. Next morning, after breakiast, up 1 came, pulled off the cloth, aud sure enough there Was the paper, which fluttered down onthe floor. Lwasia‘a tow- ering rage. ‘I’ve got you now,’ thought I, and sent for him, while I got out my cane. Up he came, as Cool as you please, with bis hands in his pockets, *Didn'tI tell you to shakemy table-cloth every morning?’ roared lL. ‘Yes,’ says he. ‘Did you do it thistorning?’ ‘Yes. ‘You younghar! LT put irene Piavee of paper On tho tablelast night, andif you’d taken tho table-cloth off you'd have seen them, so I’m going to give you a good lick- ing.” Then ei youngster takes one hand out of lis pocket, and just stoops down and picks uptwo of the bits of paper, and holds them out to me. There was written on cach, in great round text, ‘Harry East, bis mark.’ The youug rogue had was | ( found my trap out, taken away my paper, an?! put some of his there, every bié ear-marked. It is great mind to lick him for his impudence, bx, after all, ono has no right to be laying traps, so L didn’t. Of conrse I was at his mercy till the cnc ot tho half, and in his weeks my study was 8. trowzy that I couldn’t sit in it.” “ney spoil one’s things so, too,” chimed in a. third boy. ‘*Halland Brown were night-fags lust week: I called fag, and gave them my ecandie- sticks to clean; away they went, and didn’t ap- pear again. When they’d had time enough to clean them three times over, I went out to look: after them. They weren’t In the passages, so down I went into the Hall, where £ heard music, - and there [found them sitting on the table, listen- ing to Johnson, who was playing the flute, and my candlesticks stuck between the bara well into tho fire, red hot, clean spoiled; they’vye never stood straight since, ahd I must get somo more. However, I gave them both a good licking; that’s. one comfort.” Sch were the sort of sorapes they were always. gotlinginto; and so, partly by their own faults, partly from circumstances, partly from the faulta ofothers, they found themselves outlaws, ticket- of-leaye men, or what you will in that live; ia short, dangerous parties, and lived the sort of hand-to-mouth, wild, reckless life which such paruies generally bave to put up with. Never- theless, they never quite lost fayor with Young Brooke, who was now the cock of the House, and just gottinginto the sixth; and Diggs stuck to themlike aman, and gave them store of good ad-- vice, by which they never in tho least proilted. And even after the House mended, and law and order had been restored, which soon happened at~ ter Young Brookeand Digys got into tuo sixti, they couldn’6 easily or at once return into tho patns of steudiness,and many oftho vid wildout~ of-bounds habits stuck to themas firmly as ever While they hadbecu quite lbtlo boys, the scrapes. they gotinto in the Scuoul hadn’t much muttered toany one; but now they were in the upper scnool,. all wrong-doersfrom which were sent up straight to tio Doctorat once; so they began to come un- der bis notice; and as they were @ sort of leadera. inasmall way amongst their own contemporz- ries, his eye, which Was everywhere, was upon them. , : It was a toss-up whether they turned out welk or ill, and so they were just the buys whv cause-L most anxiety to such a master, You h@ye been told of the first oe¢asion on which they were sent. up to the Doctor, and the remembrances ofit was so pleasant, that they had mucj~less fear of him than most boys of their standing had. *“T¢'s ail his looks,” Tom used to say to East, “ that frignt- ens fellows; don't you reraember, he never said anything to us my firsé half-year, for being au hour late for locking up?’ The next time Tom camo before him, however, the interview was of a very different kind, It happened just about the time ab which wo have now urrived, and was tho first of a series of scrapes into wich our hero mauaged now to tum- ble. : The river Avon at Rugby is a slow and not very clear stream, in whieu Guub, dace, rvacn, ank other coarse fish are (or Were) plentiiul enough, together with a fair sprivklivg of small jack, but no fish worthsixpence citnerfursport or foud, In is, however, @ capital river for bathing, asit bas mauy nicé small pools and several good reaches for swimming, wll within about a mile of one an- other, and at an casy Lwenuy minutes’ wall irom. — the school. Tuis wile of water is renced, or used to bo rented,for bathiug purposes, by the Tius- tees of the Scuvol, for the boys. The footpath to Browuser crosses the river by~ “tne Planks,” a curious old single-plank bridge, runuing tifty or sixty yards into che flatmeadows. on cach side of the river—for in the Winter there are frequent flouds. Above the Planks were ine bathing-places Zor the Smaller boys—sieath's, the first batning place Wuere all new boys Dud Lo be- gin, until tuey had proved to ute bathing men three steady individuuis Wuo were paid to at-~ tend daily turough the summer to prevent acci- dents) baat they could swik pretiy ducently, hen they were allowed 40 go on to Austey’s, about oue hundred and fifty yards below. Here there wu8sa holeabout six feet deep anid twelve feet across, Over Wuich the puffing urchins surug- gled to the Opposite side, and thought no small beer of themselves for having been outof tueix depths. Below tue Planks came larger and deep- er holes, the first of Waich Was Weratisliw’s, and the last Switt’s, & fumous hole, ten or twWoive feet, deep ip parts, «au i tirty yards acrogs, from. which there was @ fine swimming reach higat - down to the Mill, Swifv’s was reserved for the sixth and fitth forms, and had a spring-board and. two sets of steps: tuo Others hadone set of stops each, and were used mdifferently by all tho lower boys, though each Houso addicted itself moro to one bole than to ancther. The School-house at. this time affected Wa isi.w’s hole, and Tom and Eust, wio had learn to swim like fishes, were to» bo found there as regular as the clock throug. tbe summer, always twice, and often three tines aday. . Now the boys either had, or fancied they had, a right also to fish at their pleasure over the whole oe this part of the river, and would not under stand that the right (if any) only extended to the Rugby side. As 1ll-luck would have it, the gentle~ Min wie owned the onnosite bank, after alow
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20 { TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS. SS aa a Se RR BE SSE SS SRT SERED SOREN SRS ing itfor some time without interference, had or-| ing fellows at the foot of the giant willow. As dered his keepers not to let the boys fish on his side; the consequence of which had been, that there had been first wranglings and then fights be- tween the keepers and the boys; and so keen had the quarrel become, that the landlord and his kkeepers, after a ducking had been inflicted on one ef the latter, and flerce fight ensued thereon, had beenup to the great school at_the calling- over to identify the delinquents, and if was all the Doctor bimself and five or six masters could do to keep the peace. Not even his authority could prevent tho hissing, and so strong was the feeling, thatthe four preepostors of the week walk- ed up the school with their canes, shouting s-s-s-i- lene. c-e-c-e at the top of their voices. However, tlie chief offenders for the time were flogged and kept iu bounds, but the victorious party had brought a nice hornei’s nest about their ears. The Janilord was hissed at the School-gates as he rode past, and when he charged his horse at ihe mob of boys, and tried to thrash them with his whip, was driven back by cricket bats and wickets and pursued with pebbles and fives’-balls; while the wretched keepers’ lives were a burden to them, from having to watch the water 50 grone , The School-house boys of Tom’s standing, one and ail, as a protest against this tyranny and cutting short of their lawful amusements, took to fishing in all ways, and especially by means of night-lines. The little tackle-maker at the bottom of the town would soon have made his fortune had the rago lasted, and several of the barbers began to lay in fishing-tackle. The boys had this greut advantage over their enemies, that they spent a large portion of the day in nature’s garb by the riverside, and so, when tired of swimming, would get out on the other side and fish, or set aight-lines, till the keepers hove in sight, and then plunge in and swim back and mix with the other bathers, and tue keepers were 100 wise to foliow across tie stream. While things were 10 this state, one day Tom and three or four others were bathing at Wratislaw’s, andhad, as a matter of course, been taking up and resetting night-lines. They had all lett the waiter, and were sitting or standing about at their toilettes, in all costumes from a shirt upward, when they were aware of-a man in a velveteen shooting-coat approaching from the other side. -He was a new keeper, so they didn’t recognize or notice him, till he pulled up right opposite and began: “T se@d some of you young gentlemen over this ide a fisuing just now.” i “fullo, weo are you? what business is that of yours, oll Velyeteens?” ' “Pm the new uuder-keeper, and master’s -told me to keep a sharp look-out on allo’ you young chaps. And I telis ee I means business, and you’d better keep,on your own side, or we shall tall Out. | * Well, that’s right, Velveteens—speak out and Jet’s know your mind at once.” | “Look here, old boy,” cried Rast, holding up a miserable coarse fish or two and a small jack, *“would you like to swell ’em and see whieh bank they lived under?” “{ give you a bit of advice, keeper,” shouted Tom, who was sitting in his shirt paddling with his feetin the river; ‘you'd better go down there to Swift’s, where the big boys are; they’re beggurs at settiug lines, and’il put you up toa wrinkle or two for catching the fye-pounders.”’ Tom was nearest to (he keeper, auil tiat officer, who was getting angry at the chaff, fixed his eyes on our hero, as if to take a note of him for future use. Tom returned his geee with a steady stare, and then broke into a laugh, and struck into the middle of a favorite School-house song, the chorus of which was taken up by the other “poys with shouts of laughter, and the keeper turned away with a grunt, but evidently bent on er The boys thought no wore of the mater. But now cams on the May-fly soason: the soft Lazy summer weather lay sleepily aloug the rich wexdows by Avon side, and the green aud gra fies flickered with their graceful lazy up-and- vown flight over the reeds and the water and the aneadows, in myriads upon myriads. The May- flies must surely be thd locus-euters‘of the ephe- inerge; the happiest, laziest, carelessest fly that ances and dreams out his few hours of sunshiny jlife by the English rivers, Every little pitiful coarse fish in the Avon was on the alert forthe flies,and gorging lis wretched ecarciss with hundreds dally, the gluttonous jogues) and every lover of the geutie craft was 4ouc Lo avenge the poor May-flics. 80 one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom having borrowed East’s new rod, started by himseit jor theriver, He fished for some time with small succerss: nota tish would riso a6 him; but as he prowled along the bank, he was presently aware vtm glty ones feeding in a pool on the opposire side, under the shade of a huge willow-tree. The stream was deep herve, but some fifty yards below was a shallow,for which he made off hot-foot; and forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohib- 4.0us of the Doctor, and every thing else, pulled ae) jus trowsers, plunged across, and in three LWILULES Was Creeping along on all-fours towards dune clump of willows. f . | Itisn’t often that great chub, or any other coarse dish, are in earnest about any thing, but just then aney were thoroughly bent on feeding, and in half wun hour Master Tom had deposited taree thump- he was baiting for a fourth pounder, and just voing to throw in again, he became aware cof a man coming up the bank not one hundred yurds cff. Anothér look told him that it was the under- keeper. Could be reach the shallow before him ? No, not carrying hisrod. Nothing for it bul the tree, so Tom laid his bones to it, shinning up as fast as he could, and dragging up his rod after him. He had just time to reach and crouch along a high branch some ten feet up, which stretched over the river, when the keeper arrived at the clump. Tom’s heart beat fast as he came under the tree; two steps more and he would haye passed, when, as ill-luck would have it, the gleam on the scales of the dead fish caught his eye, and he made a dead point at the foot of the tree. He picked up the fisu one by one; his eye and touch told him that they had been alive and feeding within the hour, Tom crouched lower along the branch, and heard the keeper beating the clump. “Tf I could only get tne rod hiddeo,” thougut he, and began genily shifting it to get it alongside of him; “willow-trees don’t throw out straight hick- ory shoots twelve feet loug, with no leaves, worse luck!” Alas! the keeper catches the rustle, and then a sight of the rod, and then Tom’s hand and arn, “Oh, be up ther’ be ee?” says he, running under the tree. ‘‘Now you come down this minute,” “Treed at last,” thinks Tom, making no an- swer, and keeping as close as possible, but work- ing away at the rod, which he takes to pieces: “Ym in for it, unless I can starve him out.” And then he begins to meditate getting along the brunch for a plunge, and scramble to the other side; but the smail branches are so thick, and the oppusile bank so difficult, that the keeper will have lotsof time to get around by the ford before he can get out, 80 he givesthatup. And now he hears the keeper beginning to scramble up the trunk, That will never do; so he scrambles him- self back to where his branch joins the trunk, and stands with lifted rod. “Hullo, Velveteens ! mind your fingers if you come any higher!” The keeper stops and looks up, and then witha grin says, ‘Oi! be you, be it, young meastor? Well, here’s luck, Now TI tells ee to come down at once, and ’t’ll be best for ee.” “Thank ce, Velveteens, I’m very comfortable,” said Tom, shortening the rod in his hand, and preparing for battle. “‘Werry well, please yourself,” says the keeper, descending however to the ground again, and taking his seat on the bank; “I bean’t in no hurry ,80 you may tako your time. 1’ll larn ee to geo honest folks names afore I’ve done with ee.” “My luck as usual,” thinks Tom; ‘ what a fool I was to give him a black. If I'd called him ‘keeper,’ now, I might gecoff, Ths return match is ull bis way.” The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, fill and hyht it, keeping an eye on Tom, who now sat discousolately ucross the branch, looking at the keoper—a pitiful sightfor men and fishes. The more he thought of 10 the lesshe likedit ‘Tt must be getting near second calling-oyer,” thinks ne. Keeper swokes on stolidly. ‘It he takes me upIshall be flogged safe enough. I can’t sit here all night. Wonder it be’ll rise at silver.” “Tsay, keeper,” said he meskly, “let me go for two bob?” “ Not fortwenty neither,” grunts ms»¢rsecutor. And sv they sat on till long past second calling- over, und the sun came slanting in through the bart branches, and telling of locking-up near at hand. “Vm coming down, keeper,’ said Tom at last, with a sigh, fairly tired out. “Now, what are you goiug to do” “Walk ee up to School, and give ee over to the Doctor; them’s my orders,” says Velveteens, knocking the ashes out of his fourtn pipe, and standing up and shaking himself. “Very good,” said Tom; “but hands off, you know. Vl go with you quietly, so no collaring or thav sort of thing.” — Keeper looked at bim a minute—“ Werry good,” said he at lasi; and 80 Tom aescended, and wended his way drearily by the side of the keeper up to the School-house, where they arrived just at lockiny-up. As they passed the School- yates, the Tadpole and several others who were standing there caught the state of things, and rushed out, crying, “Rescue!” but Tom shook his head, 80 they only followed to the Doctor’s gate, aud went back sorely puzaled. How stern and changed the Doctor seemed from the last time that Tom was up there, as the keeper told the story, not omitting to state how Tom had called him blackguard names. “Tndeed, sir,” broke In the culprit, “it was only Velveteens,” The Doctor only asked one ques- tion, es “You know thie rule about the banks, Brown?” “Yes, sir,” ae “Then walt for me to-morrow. after the “rst lesson.” “T thought so,” muttered Tom. “And about the rod, sir?” went on the .sp- er. ‘‘Master’s told we as we might have all the rods—” “On, please, sir,” broke in Tom, “the rod isn’t mine.” Tho Doctor lodked puzzied, but the keep- er, Who was « good-hearted fellow, and melted at Tom’s evident distress, gave up his claim. Tom was flogged next moruiny, and afew days after- ’ wards met Velveteens,and presented him with half a crown tor giving up the rod claim, and they be- came sworn friends; and I regret to say that Tom had many more fish from under the willow that May-fly season, and was Hever caught again by Velveteens. It wasn’t three weeks before Tom, and now East by his side, were againin the awful presence. This time, however, the Doctor was not so terri- ble. A tew days before, they had been fagged at fives to fetch the balls that went off the Court. While standing watching the game, they saw five or six nearly new balls hit on top of the school. “Tsay, Tom,” said East, when they were dismiss- ed, “couldn’t we get those balls somehow ?” “Let’s try, anyhow!” So they reconnoitered the walls carefully, bor- rowed a coal hammer from old Stumps, bought some big nails,and after one or two attempts scaled the Schools, and possessed themselves of huge quantities of fives’ balls. The place pleased them so much that they spent all their spare time there, scratching and cutting their names onthe top of every tower; and at last, haying exhausted all other places, finished up with in- scribing H. East, T. BROWN, on the minute- hand ofthe great clock. Inthe doing of which, they held the minute-hand, and disturbed the clock’s economy. 80 next @Porning, when mas- ters and boys came troopihg.down to prayers, and entered the quadrangle, the injured minute- hand was indicating three minutes to the hour. They all pulled up, and took their time. When the hour struck, doors were olosed, and hall the Schoollate. Taomas being set to make inquiry, discovers their names on the minute-hand, and reports accordingly; and they are sent for, a knot of their friends making derisive and panto- mimie allusions to what their fate will be, as they walk off. But the Doctor, after hearing their story, doesn’t make wueh of it, and only gives them thirty lines of Homer to learn by heart, anda lecture on the likelihood of such exploits ending in broken bones. Alas! almost the next day was one of the great fairs in the town; and as several rows and other disagreeable accidents had of late taken place on these occasions, the Doctor gives out, after prayers in the morning, that no boy is to go downinto the town. Wherefore East and Tom, for no earthly pleabure except that of doing what they are told not to do, start away, after second lesson, and making @ short circuit through the tlelds, strike a back lane which leads into the town, go down it,and run plump upon one of the masters as they emerge into the High-Street. The master in question, though a very clever, is not arighteous man; he has already caught sey- eral of his own pupils, and gives them lines to learn, While he sends Kast and Tom, who aro not his pupils, up to the Doctor; who, on learning that they had been at prayers in the morning, flogs them soundly. The flogging did them no good at the time, for the injastice of their captor was raukling in their minds; but it was just the end of the half, and on the next evening but one Thomas knocks at their door,and says the Doctor wants to see them. They look at one another in silent dismay. What can it be now? Which of their countless wroug-doings can he have heard of officially t However, it’s no use delaying, so up they goto the study. There they find the Doctor, not angry, but very grave. “He has sent for them to speak to very seriously before they go home. They have each been flogged several times in the half-year for direct and willful breaches of rules. This can not goon. They are doing no good to themselves or others, and now they are. getting up in the School, and have influence. They seem to think thas rules are made capriciously, and for the pleasure of thé masters; but this is not so, they are made for the good of the whole School, and must and shallbe obeyed. Those who thought- lessly or willfully break tiem will not be allowed to stay at the School, He should be sorry if they had to leave, ag the School might do them both much good, and wishes them to think very s@ri ously in the holidays over what ho has said. Good- night.” Sad so the two hurry off horribly scared; the ideaof haying to leave has never crossed their minds and is quite unbearable. As they go out, they meet at the door old Holmes, a sturdy cheery preepostor of another ho@se, who goes into the Doctor; and they hear his genial hearty greeting of the pew-comer, so different to their own reception, as the door closes, and revurn to their study with heavy hearts, and tremendous resolves to break no more rules. Five minutes afterwards the master of their form, a late arrival and a model young master, knovks at the Doctor’s study-door. ‘Come in!” and as he enters the Doctor goes on to Ho!mes- “You see I do not know anything of the case officially; andif Ltake any notice of ib at all, t must publicly expel the boy, Idon’t wish to do that, for I think there is some good in him. There’s nothing for it but a good sound thrashing,” He used to shake hands with the master, which Miicses does algo, and then prepares to leave. “Tunderstand. Good-night, sir.” *‘Good-night, Holmes. Aad remember,” added the Dovtor, emphasizing the words, ‘a good sound thrasning before the whole house.” The door closed on Holmes; and the Doctor, iu
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answer to the puzzled look of his lieutenant, ex- plained suorvly : “A gross case of bullying. Wharton, the head of the house, is a very good fellow, but slight and weak, and severe plfysical pain is the only way to deal with such a case; so I have asked Holmes totakeit up. He is very careful and trustworthy, aud has plenty of strength. I wish all the sixth had as much. We must have it here, if we are to keep order at all.” Now, I don’t want any wiseacres to read this book; but if they should, of course they will wick up their long ears and howl, or rather bray, is the above story. Very goou, I don’t object; mt what [haveto ada for you boys is this, that Jolmes called a levy of his house alter breakfast aext morning, made them a speech on the case of bullyingin question, and then gave the bully a “eoou sound thrasbing;” and that years after- wards that boy sought out Holmes, and thanked him, saying it had been the kiudest act which had ever been done upon him, and the turning- pointin his character; and a very good fellow he pecame, and a credit to his School: After some other talk between them, the Doc- tor sad, ‘*I want to speak to you about two boys in your form, East and Brown; I have just been speaking tothem. What do you think ot them?” “Well, they are not hard workers, aud are very thouglutless and full of spirits—but I cau’t belp hking them. I think they are sound good fellows at the bottom.” “Tm glad ofit. Lthinksotoo. But they make me very uneasy. hey are taking the lead a good deal amongst the fags in my house, for they are very active, bold fellows, I should be sorry to lose thew, but [ shan’t let them stay if I don’t see them gaining character and manliness, In another year tuey may do great harm to all the younger boys.” 2 “Oh, I hope you won’t send them away,” plead- ed their master. “Notif [ can help it. But now, I never feel gure, after any half-holiday, that Ishan’t have to flog one of them the next morning, for some fool- |, ish, thoughtless scrape. I quite dread seeing either of them.” They were both silent for a minute. Presently the Doctor began again: “They don’t feel that they have any duty or work to do in the School, and how is oue to make them feel it?” : **T think if either of them had some little boy to take care of, it would steady thew. Brown is the most reckless of the two, I should say; East wouldn’t get into so many scrapes without him.” “Well,” said the Doctor, with something like a sigh, ‘' Vl think of it.” And they went on to talk ef other subjects. 20: > PART II. CHAPTER I. HOW THE TIDE TURNED, The turning-point in our hero’s school career had now come, and tue wanner of it was as fol- lows: On the evening of the first day of ihe next half-year, Tom, East, and another School- house boy who had just been dropped at the 3pread Eagle, by the old Regulator, rushed into _ the matron’s room in high spirits, such as all real boys are in when they first get back, however fond they may be of home. “Well, Mrs. Wixie,” shouted one, seizing on the methodical, active, little dark-eyed woman, who was busy stowing away the linenof the boys who +od already arrived into their several pigeon- ne.e8, “here we are again you see, as jolly as ever. Let us help you put the things away.” “And Mary,” cried another (she was called in- differently by either name), ‘“‘who’s come back? Has the Doctor made old Jones leave? How many pew boys are there ?” “Am I and East to have Gray’s study? You know you promised to get ic for us if you could,” shouted Tom. “And am Ito seep in No. 4%” roared East. “Fow’s old Sam and Bogie and Sally ?” “Bless the boys!” cries Mary, at last getting in a word, “why, you'll shake metodeath. There, now do go away up tothe housekeeper’s room and get your suppers ; you know I haven’t t.me to talk—you’ll find plenty more in the house. Now, Muster East, do let those things alone— youre mixingup three new boys’ things.” And she rushed at East, who escaped round the open “~yunks, hoiding up a prize. “Hulloo, look here, Tommy,’ shouted he, *here’s fun!” aud he brandished above his head gyme pretty little nightcaps, beautifully made and marked, the work of Joying fingers in some * gistant country home. The kind mother and sis- ters who sewed that deticate stitching with ach- ing hearts little thought of the trouble they might be bringing on the young head for which they were meant. ‘Lhe little matrén was wiser, and snatched the caps from East before he cowd look at the name on them, ; “Now, Master Hast, [shall be very angryif you don’t go,” said she; “there’s some capital cold beef and pickles up stairs, and I won’t have you old boys in my room first night.’ 7 “Hurrah for the pickles! Come along, Tomuggy; come along Smith. We shall find out who y young Count is, I'l be bound; I hope he llsleep }whabt new boy; had TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS. in my room. Mary’s always vicious first week.” As the boys turned toleave the room, the ma- tron touched Tom’s arm, and said: “Master Brown, please stop a minute; I want to speak to you.” “Very well,Mary. I'll come in a minute, East; don’t finish the pickles—” r “Ob, Master Brown,” went on the little matron, when the rest had gone, “you’re to have Gray’s study, Mrs, Arnold says. And she wants you to take in this young geutleman. Hoe’s a new boy, and thirteen years old, though he don’t look it. He’s very delicate, and has neverbeenfrom home before. Aud I told Mrs, Arnold I thought you'd be kind to him, and see that they don’t bully him at first. He’s put into your form, and I’ve given him the bed next to yours in number 4; so East can’t sleep there this half.” Tom was rather put about by thisspeech. He had got the double stady which he coveted, but here were conditions attached which greatly moderated his joy. He looked across the room, and in the fur corner of the sofa was aware of a sight pale boy, with large blue eyes and light fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the floor. He saw at a glance that the httle stranger was just the boy whose first half-year ata public school would be misery to himself if he were left alone, or constantanxivry to any one who meant to see him through his troubles. Tom was too honest to tuke in the youngster and then let him shift for himself; and if he took him as his chum instead of East, where were all his pet plans of having a bottled-beer cellar under his Window, and waking vight lines and slings, and plotting expeditions to Brownsover Mills and Caldecott’s Spinney? Eastand he had made up their minds to get this study, and then every nightirom locking-up till ten they would bo to- gether to talk about fishing, drink bottled-beer, read Marryat’s novels, and sort birds’ eggse Anu this new boy would most likely never go out of the close, and would be afruil of wet. feet, and always getting laughed at, and called Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine nickname. Tae matron watched him for a moment, and saw what was passing in his mind, and so likoa wise negotiator, threw in an appeal to his warm heart. “Poor little fellow,” said she in almost a whisper, “ his father’s dead, and he’s got no brothers. And his mamma, such a kind sweet lady, almost broke her heart at leaving him tnis morning; and she said one of his sisters was like to die of decline, and so—” “Well, well,” burst in Tom, with something like w sigh at the effort, “I suppose I must give up East. Come along, young un. What’s your name ¢ We'll go and have some supper, and then Vl show you our study.” “His name’s George Arthur,” said the matron, walking up to him with Tom, who grasped his delicate haad as the proper preliminary to mak- ingachum of him, and felt asif he could have blown him away. ‘I’ve had his booksand things put into the study, which his mamma has had new papered, and the sofa covered, and new green-baize curtains over the door.” (Tae diplo- matic mutron threw this in, to show that the new boy was contributing largely to the partnership comforis.) “Aud Mrs. Arnold told me to say,” she added, *‘that she should likeyou both to come up to tea with her. You know the way, Master Brown, and the things are just goue up, f know.” Here was an anuouncement tor Master Tom! He was to go up to tea the firstnight, just as if he were a sixth or fitth form boy, and of importance in the school world, instead of the most rev kless young scapegrace amongst the fags, He felt him- self lifted on toa higher social and moral plat- torm at once. Nevertheless, ho couldn’t give up withous a sigh the idea of thojolly supper in the housekeeper’s room with Easi wud the rest, and wu rush reund to all the studies of his friends after- wards, to pour out the deeds aud wonders of the holidays, to plot fifty plans for the coming halt- year, und to gather news of who had left, and come, who had got who's study, and where the new preepostors slept. How- ever, Tom consoled himseif with tuiuking that he couldn’t have done all this with the new boy at his heels, and so marche off along the passages to the Doctor’s private house with his young charge in tow,in monstrous good humor with himself and allthe world. Itis needless, and would be impertinent, to tell how the two young boys were received in that drawing-room, Thelady who presided there is still living, und has carried with her to her peaceful home in the North, the respect and love of all those who ever felt and shared that gentle and high-bred hospitality. Ay, many is the brave heart now dving its work and bearingits load in country euracies, London chambers, under the Tnglav sun, and in Australian towns aud clear- ings, which looks buck with fond and grateful memory to that School-house drawing-room, aud dates much ofits highest und best training to the lessons learngé there. . Besides Mrs. Arnold and one or two of the elder children, there were oue of the younger masters, young Brooke, Who was now in tne sixth,und had sueceeded to his brother’s position and influence, and another sixth-fori boy talking together be- fore the fire. The masterand Young Brooke, now a great strapping fellow six feet higa, eighteen years old, and powerful as a coal-heaver, nodded indly to Tom, to_ his intense glory, and then went on talking; the other did not notice them. The hostess, after a few kind words, which led tue b fin a ' 25 boys once and insensibly to feel at their ease, and. to begin talking to one another, left them with. hex own children while she finished a letter. Tae young ones got on so fast and well, Tom holding forth about a prodigious pony he had been ridiug out hunting, and hearing stories of the winter glories of the lakes, when tea game in, and imme- diately after the Doctor himself, How frank, and kind, aud manly was bis greet- ing to the parcy by the fire! It did Tow’s heart good to see him and young Brooke shake. hands and look one another in the face; and he didu’t fail to remark, that Brooke was nearly as talland quite as broadas the Doctor. Aud his cup was full, whenin another moment his master turned to him with another warm shuke of the hand, and, seemingly oblivious to allths late serapes which he had been gettinginto, said, “Ab, Brown, you. here! I hope youleft your father andall wellat home ?” “Yes, sir, quite well.” “Aud this is the little fellow who is to share your study. Well, he doesn’t look as we should like to see him. He wants some Rugby air and cricket, Aud you must take him some good lounge Walks, to Bilton Grange, and Caldecott’s Spinney, und show him what a pretty country we have about here.” P Tom wondered if the Doctor knew that his visits to Bilton Grange were for the purpose of taking rooks’ nest (a proceeding strongly discountenane— ed. by the owner thereof), and those to Culdecoit’s Spinney were prompted ehiefly by the conyeni- euces for setting nignt-hnes. What didn’t the Duc- torknow! And what unoble use he always made of it! He almost resolved to adjure rook-pies und night-lnes forever. The tea went merrily off, the Doctor now talking of holiday doings, and. then of the prospecis of the half-year, whaé chances there were for the Balliol scholarship, whether the eleven would be a good one. Every body was at his ease, and every body felt that he,. young as he might be, was of some usc in tlic little School world, and had a work to do there. Soon after tea the Doctor went off to his study, and the young boys a few minutes afierwara& tuok their leave, and went out of the private door which ledfrom the Doctor’s house into the middle passage. Ab the fire, at the farther end of the passaxe, wus a.crowd of boys in loud talk and laughter, There was a sudden pause when the dvor opened, and then a great shout of greeting, as Tom was. recognized marching down the passage. “Hullo, Brown, where do you come from?” “Ou, V’vye’ been to tea with the Doctor,” says Tow, with great dignity. “My eye!” cried East. “Oh! so that’s why Mary called you back, and you didn’i come to sup- per. You lost something—that beef and pickles was no end good.” : “Tsay, young fellow,” cried Hall, detecting Ar thur, and catching him by the collar, “what’s your eos Where dv you come from? How old are you ” Tor, saw Arthur shrink back, aud look seared as aly the group turned to him, but thought it best to let him answer, just standing by hisside to sup- port in case of need, “Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire.” . “Dou’t call me ‘sir,’ you young 1nuft! How old a@re you?” “Thirteen.” “Can you sing ft” The poor boy was trembling and hesitating. Tom struck in—“You be hanged, Tadpole, He’lk have to sing, whether ho can or not, Saturday twelve weeks, and that’s long enough off yet.” “Do you kaow him, Brown ?” “No! put pe’s my chum ja Gray’s old study, and 1t’8 hear prayer-time, aod I baven’t had wu look u& igyet. Come along, Arthur.” Along went the two,Tvom longing to get his. charge safe under cover, where he might advise ulin On his deporiment. “What a queer chum for Tom Brown,” was the comment at the fire; and it must be confessed, so thought Tom bimsell, us he lighted his candle, and surveyed the new greeu-baize curtains aud the carpet and sofa with much satisfuction, “Tsay, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to wake us so cosy! But look here now: you must auswer straight up when the fellows sneak toyou,. and don’t be afraid. If you’re afraid you'll get bullied, And don’6 you say you Gan sing; and don’t you ever talk about home, or your mother and sisters.” Poor littis Arthur looked ready to cry. “ But please,” said he, “mayn’t I tuik about home to you?” | “Oh yes, I like it. But don’t talk to boys yow don’t Kuow, or they’il call you home-sick, or mamma’s darling, or sume such stuff. What a jolly desk! is that yours? And what stunning piapee why, your school-books look like uoy- els. And. Tom was soon deep in Arthur’s goods and chattels, all new and good euuugh for a iftu-foru boy, and hardly thought of his friends outside till. the prayer-bell rang. ' I have already described the School-house pray- ers; they were the same on the first night as om the other nights, Save for the gays caused by tire absence of those boys oe, came late, and the line. of new boys who stood a t table—of an sorts aud sizes, like young bears with all their trouble to come, as Tom’s father had said. to him when he was m the sawe position, He Phat together ut the farther |
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22 TOM BROWN’S SOHOOL DAYS. RD TSE Le PSR PST SANS 2 I IT LS SE EP OES A PS IT aT ATS thouglt of it as he looked at the line, aud poor Hittle slight Arthur standing with them,and as he was leading him up stairs to Number 4, (directly after prayers, and showing him his bed. It wasa chuge high airy room, with two large windows Jooking on to the School close. There were twelve | eds in the room; the one in the farthest corner by the fire-place occupied by the sixth-form boy who was responsible for the discipline of the room, and the rest by boys in the lower fifth and and other jauior forms, all fags (for the fifth-form ‘boys as has been said, slept in rooms by them- selves). Being fags, the eldest of them was not more than about sixteen years old, and were all bound to be up and in bed by ten; the sixth-form boys came to bed from ten to a quarter-past (at which time the old verger came round to put the candles out), except when they sat up to read. Within afew minutes therefore of their entry, all the other boys who slept in Number4 had come up. The httle fellows went quietly to their wn beds, and began undressing and talking to each other, in whispers, while the elder, amongst whom was Tom, sat chatting about on one another’s beds, with their jackets and “waistcoats off. Poor little Arthur was overwhelm- -ed with the novelty of his position. The idea of sleeping in the room with strange boys had clear- ly never crossed his mind before, and was‘as painful as it was strange to him. He conld hardly bear to take his jacket off; however, presently, with an effort, off1t came, and then he paused and Jooked at Tom, who was sitting at the bottom of ‘his bed talking and laughing. “Please, Brown,” he whispered, ‘may I wash amy face and hands?” “Of course, if you like,” said Tom, staring; “‘thavs your washhand-stand, under the window, wsecond from your bed. You'll have to go down tor more water in the morningit you use it ali.” And on he went with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds out to his wash- thand-stand, and began his ablutions, thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention of ‘the room. On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished this washing and undressing, and put on his night- gown. He then looked round more nervously than ever. Twoor three of the little boys were already in bed, sitting up with their chins on their ‘knees. The light burned clear, the noise went on. It wasa trying moment for the poor little lonely boy ; however, this time he didn’t ask Tom what hho might or might not do, but dropped on-his knees by his bedside, as he had cone every day trora lis childhood, to open his heart to Him who ‘heareth the ery and beareth the sorrows of the tender child, and the strong manin agony, Tom was situng at the bottom of his bed unlac- ing his boots, s0 that his back was towurd Arthur, nud he didn’t see what had happened, and lucked up in wonder at tho endden silence. Then two or three beys laughed and sneered, and a big rutal fellow, who Was standing in the middle of the room, picked up a slipper, and shied it at the | ‘kneeling boy, calling him a snivelling young sheyer. Then Tom saw the whole, and fhe next moment the boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, who had just, time to throw up lis arm and catch if on’ his elbow. “Confound you, Brown, what’s that for?’ roared he, stamping with pain. $ “‘Never mind whatI mean,” said Tom, stepping on tie floor, every drop of biood in his body ting- ling; “if any fellow wants the other boot, he knows how to get it.” What would have been the result is doubtful, for at this moment the sixth-form boy came in, and not another word could be said. Tom and the restrushedinto bed and finisued their unrobing there, and the old verger, as punctual as the clock, dad put ont the candle in another minute, and stoddied on to the next room, shutting their door with his usual “ Goou-night, gen’lm’n.” —- There were many boys in the room by whom ‘that little scene was taken to heart before tuey slept. Butsleep seemed to have deserted the pii- low of poor Tom. For some time his excitement, and the flood of memories which chased one an- other through his Lrain, kept him from thinkin or resolving. His heal throbbed, his heartleaped, and he could hardly keep himself from epringing out of bed andrushingabout thé room. Then the thought of his own mother came across him, aud the promise he had made at her knee, years ago, never to forget to knee! by bis bedside, and give himself up to his Father, before he laid his head on the news from which it might never rise; and helay down gently and cried as if his heart would break. He was pay. fourteen years old. It was no light act of courage in those days, my dear boys, for a little fellow to say his prayers publicly, even at Rugby. A few years lacer, when Arnold’s manly piety had begun to leaven the school, the tables turned; before he died, in the School-house at least, and I believe in the other house, the rule was the other way. Bat poor ‘Tom had come to schoolin other times. The first tew nights after he came he did uot kneel down because of the noise, but sat upin bed till the can- dle was out, and then stole out aud said his ray ers, in fear lest some one should find him out. io did many another poor little fellow. Then he | began to think that he might just as well say his ‘prayers in bed, und then tbat it didn’t matter. Whether he‘was kneeling, or sitting, or lyin 4own. And soit had come to pass with roms aa . with all who will not confess their Lord before men; and for tha last year he had probably not said bis prayers in earnest a dozen times. Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling which waslike to break his heart was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of allofhers which he }loathed was brought in and burnedin on bis own sonl. He had lied to his mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? And then the poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied and al- most scorned for his weakness, had done that which be, braggart as he was, darednotdo. The tirst dawn of comfort came to him iu swearing to himself that he would stand by thit boy through thick and thin, and cheer him, and help him, and bear his burdens, for the good deed done that night. Then he resolved to write home next day and tell his mother ail, and what a coward her {son had been. And then peace came to him as he resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony next morn- ing. The morning would be harder thanthe nicht to begin with, but he felt that he could not afford to lef one chance slip. Several times he faltered, |for the devil showed him first all his old friends jealling him “Saint” and “Square-toes,” and + | dozen hard names, and whispered to him that his imnotives would be misunderstood, and he would jonly be left alone with the new boy; whereasit was his duty to keep all means of influence, that he might do good to the largest number. Aud then came the more subtle temptation. “ShallI not be showing wa fi braver than ethers by do- ing this? Have I any right to begin it now? Ought I not rather to pray in my own stu ty, let- \ting other boys know that I do so, and trying to ‘lead them to it, while in public atleast Lshould |go on as I have done? However, his good angel was too stroug that night, and he turned on his |side and slept, tired of trying to reason, but re- |solved to follow the impulse which had been so strong, and in which he had found peace. Next morning be was i,» and washed and dressed, all but his jacket and waistcoat, just as the ten minutes’ bell began to ring, ana then in the face of the whole room knelt down Sd tet Not five words could he say—tne bell mocked him; he was listening for every whisper in the room— what were they all thuking of him? He was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees, At ast, as is were from his inmost heart, a still small voicu seemed to breathe forth the words of the publican: ‘God he merciful to me @ sinner!” Herepeated them over and over, clinging to them as for his life, aud rose from his knees comforted and humbled, aud ready to face the whole world. It was not needed: two other boys besides Arthur had already fullowed his ex- ample, and he went down to the greatSchool with a glimmering of another lesson in his heart—tha lesson that he who hasconquered his own coward spirit has conquered the whole outward world; jaud that other one which the old prophet learnt jin the cave in Mount Horeb, when ho hid his face, and the still smail voice asked, “ What doest thou | | here, Elijah?” that however we may fancy our- | | Selves lone on the side of the good, the King and Lord of men is nowhere without his wituesses; for in every society, however seemingly corrupt and godless, there are those who have not bowed the knee to Baal. He found, too, how greatly he had exaggera ed the effect to be produced by his act. For a few nights there was a sneer or laugh when he knelt dewn, but this passed off soon, and one by one ull the other boys but three or four followed the lead. I fear that this was in some measure owing to the fact, that Tom could provably have thrashed any boy in the room except the preepostor; at any rate, everybody knew that he would try upon very slight provocation, and didn’t choose to run the risk of a hard fight because fom Brown had taken afaney to say his prayers. Some of the smnall boys of Numver 4 communicated the new state of things to their chums, and in several other rooms tae poor tittle fellows tried it on; in one instance or 80, where the preepustor heard of it and interfered very decidedly, with partial success; but in the rest,after a short struggle, the corgessors were bullied or laugheddown, and the old\state of things went on fur some time longer. Berfore either Tom Brown or Arthur left the School, there was no room in which it had not become the regular custom. I trust itis so still, and that the old heathen state of things has gone out forever. - : CHAPTER IL THE NEW BOY. Ido not mean torecount all the little troubles and annoyances which thronged upon Tom atthe beginning of this half-year, in his new character of bear-leader to a gentile little boy straight from home. He seemed to himselt to have become a new boy agin, without any of the long suffering and meekness indispensable for supporting that character with mioderate suecess. From morhing till night he had the feeling of responsibility on his mind; and,even if he left Arthur in their study orin the close for an hour, was never at ease till he had himin sight again. He waited for him at the doors of the school after every |lesson and every calling-over; watched that no tricks were played him, er Spy but the regula: tion questions asked; kept Bis eye on his plaie at ; Ginner and breakfast, tv sce that no unfair depro- brs on \rangle together. dations were made upon his viands:in shori, ag Eastremarked, cackled after him like a hen with one chick. Arther took a long time thawing too, which made it all the harder work; was sadly timid; scarcely ever spoke unless Tom spoke to him firs and, worst of all, would agreo with him in every thing, the hardest thing in the world for a Brown to bear. He got quite angry, sometimes, as they Sat together of a night in their study, at this pro- voking habit of agreement, and was on the point of breaking out a dozen times with a lecture on the propriety of a fellow having a will of hisown and speaking out, but managed to restrain him- self by the thought that he might only frighten Arthur, and the remembrance of the lesson he bad Jearnt from him on the first night at Number 4, Then he would resolve to sit still, and not say a word till Arthur began; buthe was always beat at that game, and had presently to begin talking in despair, fearing lest Arthur might think he was vexed at something if he didn’t, and dog-tired of sitting tongue-tied. It was hard work! But Tom had taken it up, and meant to stick to it, and go through with it, so as to Satisfy himself; in. whioh resolution ho | was much assisted by the chafling of East and his ‘other old friends, who began to call him “ dry- | nurse,” and otherwise to break their sma!l wit on jhim, But when they took other ground, as they did every now and theuv, Tom was sorely puzzied. ~ “Tell you what, Tommy,” East would say, “ you'll spoil young Hopeful with too much cod- dling. Why can’t you let him go about by himseif and find hisown level! Ht never be worth a button, if you go on keeping him under your skirts,” “ Well, but he ain’t fit to fight his own way yet; Ymuryingto get him to it every day—but he’s |very odd. Poor little beggar! He ain’t a bit like any thing I’ve ever seen or heard of—he seems all over nerves; any thing you say seems to hurt him like a cut or a blow.” “That sort of boy’s no use here,” sail East; ‘“*he’llonly spoil, Now, I'll tell you whacto do, Tommy. Go and get a nice large band-box made and pub bhimin with plenty of cotton-wool anda pap-bottle iabelled ‘With care,’ this side up, and seod him back to mama.” “T thinkI shall make a hand of him, though,” |said Tom, smiling, ‘‘say what you will. Toere’s |sumething about him, every now and then, which shows me he’s got plucksomewherein him. Taat’s ‘the only thing, after all, that’ll wash, ain’tit, old |Scud# But how to get atit and bring it out?” Tont took one hand out of his breeches-pocket™ and stuck it in his back hairfor a scratch, giving his hata tilt over his nose, his one method of in- voking wisdom. Hestared ut the ground witha ludicrously puzzled lowk, and presently looked up and met Eas’s eyes. That young gentleman slap- ped him on the back, and thea put hisarm around his shunider,as they strolled through the quad- “Tom,” suid he, “pleScif you ain’¢ the best oid fellow ever was—I do like to see you gointoathing. Hangit, I wish I could take thingsas you do, but I never can get higher than ajoke. Every thing’sa joke. If I was going to bu flogged pext minute, I should bein a blue funk, bub T couldu’t help laughing at it for the life of me. “Brown and East, you go and fag tor Jones on the great fives’-court.” “Hnillo,tho’, that’s past a joke,” broke out Hast, springing at the young gentleman who addressed them, and catching him by the collar. ‘“ Here; Tommy, catch hold of him Vother side before he can hojla.” ' The youth was seized, and dragged struggling out of the quadrangle into the School-house hall, He was one of the miserable little pretty white- handed curly-headed boys, petted and pampered by some of the big fellows, who wrote their verses for them, taught them to drink and use bad lan- guage,and did all they could to spoil them for every thingin this world and tie next. Ouae of the avocations in which these young gentlemen took particular delight was in going about and getting fags*for their protectors, when those heroes were playing any game. They carried about penciland paper with them, putting down the names of all the boys they sent, always send- ing five times as many as were wanted, and get- ting those thrashed who didn’t go. The present youth belonged to a house which was very jealous of the School-house, and always pickéd ous School-house fags when he could find them, However, this time he’d got the wrong sow by the ear. His captors slammed the great door of the hall, and East put his back against it, while Tow gave the prisoner a shake-up, took away wis list, and stood him up on the floor, while he proceeded leisurely to examine that document. “Let me out! let me go!” screamed the boy in afurious passion. ‘‘I’li go and tell Jones this ininute, aud he’ll give you voth the thrash- ing you ever had,” ; “Pretty little dear,” said East, patting the top of his hat; “‘hark how he swears, Vow. Nicely brouglt-up young man, ain’t he, I dou’t t ink.” “Let me alone, you,” roared the boy, foaming with rage, aud kicking at East, who quietly tripped him up, und deposited him on the floorin a place of satety, “Gently, young fellow,” said he; ‘‘’taint im- proving for iit.ie Whippersnuppers like you to be dalging in Dlasplemy ; 80 you stop that, or you'll et something you won’t like,”
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.. fakiug fast. TOM BROWWS SCHOOL DAYS. 28 nnn nnn nn ee aaa aE aaa EEEEEESEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEaneeenenned “Till have you both licked when I get out, that I will,” rejoined the bos, beginning tv snivel. “Two cun play at that game, mind you,” said Yom, who had finished his examination of the list. “Now, you just listen here. We’ve jusf come across the fives’-court, and Jones has four fags there already, two morg than he wants. If he’d wanted us to change, he’d have stopped us him- self. And here, you little blackguard, you’ve got seven names down on your list beside ours, and five of them School-house.” Tom walked up to him, and jerked him on to his legs; he was by this time whining like a whipped puppy. “Now just hsten to me. We ain’t going to fag for Jones. If you tell him you’ve sent us, we'll each of us give you such a thrashing as you’il re- member.” And Tom tore up the list and threw the pieces into the tire. “And mind you, too,” said Hast, “don’t let me catch you again sneaking about the School-house, and picking up our fags. You haven’t goo the sort of hide to take a sound licking kindly;” and he opened the door and sent the young gentleman flying into the quadrangle with a parting kick. “Nice boy, Tommy,” said Easr, shoving his hands in his pockets, and strolling to the fire. “Worst sort we breed,” responded Tem, follow- ing his example. “Thank goodness, no big fel- dow ever took to petting me.” “You’d never have been like that,” said East. “Tshould like to have put him in a museum: Christian young gentleman, nineteenth century, highly educated. Stir him up with a long pole, Jack, and hear him swear like a drunken sailor! rinhe make a@ respectable public open its eyes, I ink. “Think he’ll tell Jones?” said Tom. “No,” said East. ‘Don’t care if he does.” “Nor I,” said Tom, And they went back to talk about Arthur. The young gentleman had brains evough not to tell Jones, reasoning that East and Brown, who were noticed as some of the toughest fags in the school, wouldn’t care three straws for any licking Jones might give them, and would bo likely to oA er words about passing it on with in- terest. After the above conversation, East came a good deal to their study, and took notice of Arthur; and soon allowed to Tom that he was a thorough little gentleman, and would get over his shyness allin good time, which much comforted our hero. He felt every day, too, the value of having an ob- ect in hislife, something that drew him out of imself; and, it being the dull tims ef the year, and no games going about for waich he much eared, was happierthan he had ever yet been at school, Which was saying a great deal. * The time which Tom allowed himselfaway from his Charge was from locking-up till supper time. During this hour, or hour and a halt, he used to make bis fling, guing round to the siudies of all his acquaintance, sparring or gossiping in the hall, now jumping the old iron-bound tables, or carving a bit of hisname on them, then joining in some chorus of merry voices, in fact, blowing off hissteam, as weshould now call it. Tims process was so congenial to his tein per, and Arthur showed himself so pleased at the arrange- ment, that it was several weeks before Tom was ever in their study before supper. One evening, however, hoe rushed in to look for an old chisel, or some corks, orotner articles essential to his par- suit forthe time being, and, while rummaging aboutio the cupboards, looked up for amoment, and was caught +6 once by the figure of poor little Arthur. The boy was sitting with his elbows on the table, and his head leaning on his bands, and before him an open book, on which his tears were Tom shut the door at once and sat down on the sofa by Arthur, putting his arm round his neck, “Why, young un! what’s the matter?” kindly; “you ain’t unhappy, are you?” “Oh no, Brown,” said the little boy, looking up with the great tearsin his eyes; ‘ youare so kind to me, I’m very happy.” “Why don’t you call me Tom? lots of boys do that I don’t lke baltso much asyou. What are youreading, then? Hangit, you must come about with me, and not mope yourself,” and Tom east his eyes on the book, and saw it was the Bible. He wassilent for a minute, and thought to himself. omen Number 2, Tom Brown,” und then said geutly— “Ym very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that I don’t read the Bible more mysel!. Do you ei every night before supper whi! Pm ys “ Yes.” “Well, ’d wish you'd wait till afterwards, and then we'd read together. But, Arthur, why does it make you cry t” “Ou, it isn’t that ’m unhappy. while my father was alive, we always read the lessons afcer tea; andI love to read them over now, and try to remember what he said about them. I can’t remember all,and I think I searcely understand a great deal of what I do remember. fa ig all comes back to me so fresh, that L can’t elp crying sometimes to think that I shall never es again with finn.” r had never spoken of his home be tebe hadn’t encouraged him to of pees think thor ee rameesa 3 reasoning made him sian ae a re would be softened and led ‘ nking of home. But now he was said he, But at home, fairly interested, and forgot allabout chisels and bottled beer; while with very little encourage- ment Arthur launched into his home history, and the prayer. bell put them both out sadly when 1b Tang to call them to the hall. From this time Arthur constantly spoke of his home, anda, above all, of his father, who had been dead about a vear, and whose memory Tom soon got to love and reverence almost as much as his own son did. CHAPTER IIL. ARTHUR MAKES*A FRIEND- About six weeks after the beginning of the half, as fom and Arthur were sitting one night before supper beginning their yerses, Arthur suddenly stopped, and looked up, and said, ‘Tom, do you know anything of Martin?” “Yes,” said Tom, taking his hand out of his back hair, and delighted to throw his Gradus ad Parnassum on to the sofa; “I know him pretty well. He’s a very good fellow, butas mad as a hatter. He’s called Madman,youknow. And never was such a fellow for getting all sorts of rum things about him. He tamed two snakes last half, and used to carry them aboutin his pocket, and) I'll be bound he’s got somé hedgehogs and ratsin his cupboard now, and no one Knows what besides.” “T should like very much to know him,” said Arthur: “he was next to me in the form to-day, and he’d lost bis book and looked over mine, and | he seemed so kin® and gentle that I liked him very much.” “Ah, poor old Madman, he’s always losing his books,” said Tom, “and getting called up and floored because he hasn’t got them.” **T like him all the better,” said Arthur. “Well, he’s great fun, I can tell you,” said Tom, throwing himself back on tho sofa, and chuckling atthe remembrance. “ We had such a game with him one day last half. He had been kicking up horrid stinks for some time in his study, till I suppose some fellow told Mary, and she told the Doctor. Anyhow, one day alittle before dinner, when he came down from the library, the Doctor, instead of going home, came striding into the Hall. East and I and five or six other fellows were at tho fire, and preciously we stared, for Le don’t come in jiks taat once a year, ualess ifis a wet day and there’s a fightin the Hall. ‘ East,’ says he, ‘just come and show mo» Murtin’s study.’ ‘Oh, here’s a game,’ whispered the rest of us, and we all cut up stairs after the Doctor, Bast leading. As we gotinto the New kow, which was hardly wide enough to hold the Doctor and his gown, click, click, click, we heard in the old Madman’s den. Then that stopped all ot a sudden, and the bolts went to like fuu; the Madman knew East’s step, and thought there was going to be a siege. “*Tt’s the Doctor, Martin. He’s here and wants to see you,’ sings out East. “Phen the boits went back slowly, and the door opened, and there was the old Madman standing, looking precious scared; his jacket off, his shirt- sleeves up to his elbows, and lus long skinny arms all covered with anchors aud arrows and letters, tattooed in with gunpuwder like a sailur- boy’s, and a stink fit to knock you down coming out. *fwas all the Doctor could do to stand his ground, and East and I, who were looking in under his arms, held our noses tight. The old magpie was standing on the window-sill, all his feathers drooping, aud looking disgusted and half-poisoned. “*What can you be about, Martin?’ says tho Doctor; ‘you really niustu’t go on in this way— you're a nuisance to the whole passage.’ “*Please, sir, l was only mixing up this pow- der, there isn’t any harm in i$;’ an! the Madman seized nervously on his pesile and mortar, wo show the Doctor the harmlessness of his pursuits, and went on pounding; click, click, click. He hadn’t given six clicks before, puff! up went the whole into a great blaze, away went the pestle and mortar across the study, and buck we tumbled into the passage. The magpie fluttered down into the court swearing, aud the Madman danced out, howling. with his fingers in his mouth. The Doctorcaught hold of him, and called to us to fetch some water. ‘There, you silly felluw,’ said he, quite pleased, though, to find he wasn’tmuch hurt, ‘ you see you don’t know the least what you’re doing with all these things; and now, mind you, you must give up practising chemistry by yourself.’ Then he took hold of Lisarm and looked at it, and I saw he had to bite his lip, and his eyes twinkled; but he said, quite grave, ‘Here, you see, you’ve been making all these foolish marks on yourself, which you never can get_out, and you’ll be very sorry tor itin-a year or two: now come down to the housekeeper’s room, and let us see if you are hurt,’ And away went the two, and we all staid and hag} a regular turn-out of the den, till Martin came! nack with his hand bandaged and turned ug out, | However, I'll go and see what he’s after, aud tell him to come in after prayers to supper.” And away went Tom to fiad the boy in question, Wuo dwelt in a little study by himself in Now Row. The aforesaid Martin whom Arthur had taken | such a fancy for was one of those unfortunates who were at that time of day (ana are, I fear, still) quite out of their places ata public school. If we knew bow to use our boys, Martin would have been seized upon and educated as anatural philosopher. He had a passion for birds, beasts, <n Mn * and insects, and knew more of them and their habits, than any one in Rugby, except perhaps the Doctor, who knew everything. He was alsu au experimental chemist on a small seale, and bad mude upto himself an electric machine, from which if was his greatest pleasure and glory to administer small shocks to any small boys who, were rash enough to venture into his study. And this was by no means an adventure free from ex- citement; for, besides the probability of a suake dropping on to your head or twining lovingly up your leg, or a rat getting iuto your breeehes- pocket in search of food, there was the animal and chemical odor to ba faced, which always huug about the den, and the chance of being blown up in some of the many experiments which Martin was always trying, with the most wonder- ful results in the shape of explosions and smells that mortal boy ever heardof. Of course, poor Martin, in consequence of his pursuits, had be- come an Ishmaelite in the house. In the firss place, ho hud half-poisoned all his neighbors, aud they In turn were always on the lookout to pounce upon any of his numerous live-stock, and drive him frantic by enticing his pet old magpipe out of his window into a neighboring study, and mak- ing the disreputable old bird drunk on toast soaked in beer and sugar, Then Martin, for his sins, inhabited a study looking into a small court some ten feet across, the window of which was completely commanded by th ‘se of the studies opposite in the sick-roem row, these latter being at a slightly higher ele- vation. East, and another boy of an equally tor- menting and ingenious turn of mind, now hved exactly opposite, and had expended huge pains and time in the preparation of instruments of annoyance for the behoof of Martia und bis live colony. One morning an old basket made its ap- pearance, suspended by a short cord, outside Martin’s window, in which were deposited an amateur nest containing four young hungry jack- daws, the pride and glory of Martin’s life for the time being, and which he was currently asserted to have hatched upon his own persoa. Early in the morning and late at night he was to be seen half out ofthe window, administering to the varied waats of his callowbrood, After deep cogicution, East and bis chum had spliced a knife on to the end of a fishing-rod; and having watched Mar- tin out, had, after half an hour’s severe sawing, cut the string by which the basket was suspeud- ed, and tumbled it on to the pavement below, with hideous remonstrance from the occupants. Poor Martin, returning froin hig short apsence, collected the fragments aud replaced his brood (except one whose neck had been broken in the descent) in their old location, suspending them this time by a string and Wire twisted together, defiant of any sharp instrument which his perse- cutors could command. But, like the Russian engineers at Sevastopol, East and his chum had an answer for every move of the adversary; and the next day had mounted a gud in the shape of @ pea-shooter upon the Kdge of their window, trained so as to beur exactly upon the spot which Martin had to occupy waile teudiug his nurslings. The moment he began to feed, they began ta shoot ; in vain did the enemy himselfinvest in a pea-shoorer, and endeavor to answer the fire while he fed the young birds with his other hand; his attention was divided, and hissvots flew wil while eyery one of theirs told on his faea an hands, and drove himinto howlings and impre- cations. He bad been driven tv ensconce the nest in a corner of his already too well-filled den. His door was barricaded by a set of ingenious bolts of his own invention, for the sieges were frequent by the neighbors when any unusually ambrosial odor spread itseif from ths den to the neighboring studics. ‘he door-panels were in anormal state of smash, but the frame of the door resisted all besiegers, and bhehiud it the owner carried on his varied pursuits; much in the same state of mind, I should faucy, as a bor- der-farmer lived in, in the days of the otd moss- troopers, when his hold might be summoned or ied ag carried off at any minute of tue night or day. “Open, Martin, old boy~—it’s only I, Tom Brown.” “Oh, very well, stop a moment.” One bolt went back, “ You’re sure Bat isn’t there 1” “No, no, hangit, open.” ‘Tam gave a kick, the other bolt creaked, aud he eutered the den. Den indeed it was, abont five feet six inches long by five wide, aud seven feet high. About six tattered school books, and a few chemical books, Taxidermy, Stanley on Birus, and an odd vyoluine of Bewick, the latter in much better pre- servation, occupied the top shelves. The other shelves, where they had not been cut away and used by the owner for other purposes, were fitted up for the abiding-places*ot birds, beasts, and reptiles, There was uo attempt at carpet or cur. ‘tain. Tho table was entirely Occupied by the great work of Martin, the electric Machine, which Was covered carefully with the remains Of his tablecloth. The jackdaw cage occupied one wall, and the other was adorned by a simall hatcher, a pair of climbing-irons, and his tin candle-box, in which he was for the time being endeavoring to raise a hopeful young family of fleld-mice, As nothing should be let to lie useless, if was well that the ¢andle-box was thus oesupied, for can- dies Martin never had, A pound was issued to him weekly as to the other boys, but as candles
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24 wero available capital, and easily exchangeable for birds’ eggs or young birds, Martin’s pound invariably found its way in a few hours to How- lett’s, the bird-faneier’s in the Bilton road, who would give a hawk’s or nightingale’s egg or youug linnet in exchange. Martin’s ingenuity was therefore forever on the rack to supply him- self with a iight; just now he had hit upona grand invention, and the den was lighted bya flaring covtou-wick issuing from a ginger-beer botile full of some doleful composition, When light altogether failed him, Martin would loaf about by the firesiu the passages or Hall, after the manuer of Jiggs, und try to do his verses or learn his lines by the fire-light. “Well, old boy, you haven’t got any sweeter ia the den th.s half. How that stuff in the bottle stinks! Never mind, I ain’t goiug to stay, but you come up after prayers to our study; you now young Arthur; we’ve got Gray’s study. We'll huve a good supper and talk about bird’s- nescing.”” Martin was evidently highly pleased at the in- vitation, and promised to be up Without fail. AS soon as prayers were over, wud the sixth and fifth-form boys had withdrawn to the aristocratic seclusion of their own room, and the rest, or democracy, had sat down to their supper in the Hall, Tom and Arthur, having secured their allowances of bread and clivese, started to their feet to catch the eyo of the preepostor of the week, wuo remained in charge during supper, walking up and down the Hall, He happened to be au easy-going fellow, so they got a pleasant nod to their “Please may I go oubt? and away they scrambled to prepare for Martin a sump- tuous banquet. This Tom had insisted on, for he was io great delight on the occasion; the reason of which delight must be expounded. The fact was that this was tuo first attempt ata friend- sulp of his own which Arthur had made, and Tom hailed it as a graud step. “Lhe ease with which be himself became bail-13llo w-well-met withany body wnd blundered into aud out of twenty friendships a half year, made him sometimes sorry and some- times augry at Arthur’s reserye and loneliness. True, Arthur was always pleasant, and even jolly, with any boys who Game with Tom to their study; but Tom felt that it was only through him, agit were, tliat his chum assogiated with others, and but for bim Arthur would have been dwelling in a wilderness. This jnereased his consciouspess of responsibility; aud thougu he hadn’t reasoned itout, and made if clear to Limsel’, yet somehow he kuew that tis respunsibility, this trust which he had taken on him without thinking about ir, head-vver-ueels, ia fact, was the centre aud turn- ing point of bis school life; that which was to wake him or mar Lun; his appombed work aud trial for the time being. And Yom was becoming anew boy, though with frequent tumbles in the dirt. and perpetual hard datele with himself, and was daily growingin manfulness and the ignifal- > ness, as every hieh-courage.t and well-p. .ncipled boy must, When he fluds hiniself for tue firso time cousciously at grips with self and the devil. Al- ready he could turn almost withouta sign, from the School-gates, trom which had just seampered - off Hast and three or four otters of his own par- ticuiar set, bouud for some folly lark not quite accurdiug to law, aud invoiving psobably a row with louts, keepers, ov farming-luborers, tho skip- ping dinne ror calling-over, some of Pucebe Jen- ning’s beer, und @ very possible flogging at the end of allus avelish, He had quite got over the stage in which he would grumble to himselt, “Well, haug it, it’s very hard of the Doctor to have saddled me with Arthur. Why couldn’¢ he have chummed him with Fugey, or Tompkin, or any ot the fellows who never do auything but walle round the close, and floish their copies the first duy they’re set?” Butalthough all this was ast, he longed, and felt that he was right in onging, for more time sor the legitimate pas- times of cricket, fives, bathing and fishing wituin pounds, in Which Arthur could not yet be his companion; and he felt vhat wheu the youug un {as he now generally calwu Lim) had found # pur- suit and some other fread for himesell, he should be able to give more time to the education of his own body with @Clear conscience. Aod Dow what he so wished for had come to pass; he almost bhuiled it as a special provi- deuce (as indeed if was, but not for the reasons he gave for it—whut providences are?) twat Arthur should have singled out Martin of all tel- lows for afriend, “Tue old Madman is the very fellow,” thought he; “*he will take him seram)b- ling over halt the country aiter biras’ eggs and flu wers, make him run andswitm and elimb like an Indian, and not teach hima word of any thing pail, ur keep him from hisiessons. What luck!” so, WIth more than his usual heartiness, he dived into his Gupboard and Luwled oud an old knuckie- boue of-ham, and vwo or three bottles of beer, together with the solemn pewter only used on State vecasions; while Arthur, equally elated at the eusy accomplishment of his first act of violation in the joiut establishmeni, produced froin his side a bottle of pickies and a pot of jam, - and cleared the tavle. In a minute or two the boys coming up from supper was heard, aud Martin knocked and was admitted, bearing bis bread und cheese, and the three fellto with hearty good-will upen the vianus, talking faster than they ute,’fur all shyness disappeared in 2 mowent b. fore Tom’s bottled beer und hospitab.c ways. “Usre’s Arthur a regular town-modss, with Ant | TOM BROWA’S SCHOOL DAYS a natural taste for the woods, Martin, longing ‘o break his neck climbing trees, and with a pas- sion for young snakes.” “Well, I say,” sputtered out Martin eagerly, “Will you come to-morrow, both of you, to Cal- decott’s Spinney, then, for I know of a kestrel’s nest, up a fir-tree—I can’t get at it without help; and Brown, you can climb against any one.” “Oh, yes, do let us go,” said Arthur; “‘I never saw a hawk’s egg.” “You just come down to my study then, and T’ll show you five sorts,” said Martin, “Ay, the old Madman bas got the best col- | lection in the house, out and out,” said Tom; and then Martin, warming with unaccustomed good cheer and the chance of a convert, launched out iuto @ proposed birds’-nesting campaign, betray- ing all manner of important secrets; a golden- crested wren’s nest, near Batlin’s Mound, a moor- hen who was sitting on nine eggsin a pond down the Barby Road and a kingfisher’s nestiu a corner of the old canal above Brownsover Mill. He had heard, he suid, that no one had ever got 1. king- fishber’s nest out perfect, and that the British Museum, or the Guvernment, or somebody, had vff-red £100 to any one who could bring them iw nest aud eggs not damaged. In the middle of which astounding annvuucement, to which the others were listeniig with open ears, andalready cousidering the upplication of the £100, a kuock came to the door, and East’s voice was heurd craving admittance, “Pnere’s Harry,” suid Tomgg“ we'll let him in— T’ll keep him steady, Martin, I thought tie old boy would smeil out the supper.” The fact was that Toim’s heart had already smit- ten Lim for notasking his “fidus Achates” to the teusit, alihough only au extetpore affair; and thoug’ prudence and the desire to get Martin and Arthur together aioue at first had overcome his scruples, he was now heartily glad to open tue door, broach another bottle of. beer, ard hand over the old ham-knuckle to the searching of his old friend’s pocket-knite, “Ab, you greedy vagabonds,” said East, with his mouth full, ‘I knew there was something going On when I saw you cut off oub of Hull so quick with your suppers. What a stunumng tap, Tom! you are a wonder for bottling the swipes.” “ve had practice enough for the last sixth in my time, and it’s hard if I haven’t picked up a wrinkle or twofor my own benefit. “Well, old Madman, and how gocs the bird’s- nesbing Campuign ? How’s Howlett? I expect the young rooks’ll be out in auother fortnight, und then my turn comes.” “Ther'll be u0 young rooks fit for pies for a month yet; shows how much you know about it,” rejuined Marin, wo, though very good friends wih Hist resarded him with considerable sus- picion lor is Lopensity to practical jokes. “Scud knows bething and gvres for vothing but grub aud mischief,” suid Tom; “but young rook- pic, specially when you’ve hud to climb for them, is very pretty eating, However, I say, Scud, we're all going after a hawk’s nest to-morrow, 10 Caldecutt’s Spinney; and if you’ll come and be- lave yoursell, we'll have a stunning climb,” “Anda batheoin Aganippe. Hooray! I’m your mau.” “No, no; no bathing in Aganippe ; that’s where our betiers £0.” “Well, well, never mind, I’m for the bawk’s nest aud unyluing that turns up.” And the bottled beer being finished, and his hunger being appeased, East departed to bis study; “(hat sneak Jones,” as he informed them, Who had just got into the six:h aud occupied the next Sikuy, having instituced w nightly visitation ore Bust und his chun, to their no swall discom ort. When he was gone, Martin rose to follow, but ‘Loin stopped Lim, “No one goes near New Row,” said Re, “su you muy justi as well stop here and do your verses, and then we'll have some more talk. We’il be uo end quiet; besides, no preepustor comes here Low—we hayen’t beeu visited once this hail.” So ihe tablo was cioared, the cloth restored, and tao three fell tv work with Gradus wud dictionary upon the morning’s vulgus, The yulguses being finished by nine o'clock, and Martin baving rejoiced above measure ju the abundance of hght. aud of Gracus und aictionary, and other conyenieuclies almost unkuowa vo biw for getling through the work, anu having beeu pressed by Arihur to some and do bis verses there whenever be liked, the three boys went dowa tu Martin’s den, aud Arthur was luitlated into the lore of birds’ eges, to ius great delight, Dhe ex- quisite coloring aud iorms ustonished and cuarmed Rim who bad scarcely ever seen any bub x hien’s ege or av ostrich’s, wand by the time he was lug- ged away to bed He had searned the names of atl least twenty sorts, aad dreamt of the glorious perils of tree climbing, and that he had found a rov’s egg in the island as big as Sinbad’s and clouded like a titlark’s, in blowing which Martin and he had nearly been drowned in the yolk, CHAPTER IY. THE BIRD FANCIERS. The next morning at first losson Tom was surne pack in his linés, and so had to waib Lill the second round, while Martin and Actlur suid theirs ail 3 ~- - od | the quadrangle. right and got out of school at onec. When Tom got out and ran down to breakfast at Harrowell’s they were missing, and Stumps inforimed hin that they had swallowed down their breakfasts and gone off together—where, he couldn’t say. Tom hurried over his own breakfast, and went firs§ to Martin’s study and then co his own, but no signs of the missing boys were to be found. He. felt half angry avd jealous of Martin—where could they be gone ? He learnt second lesson with East and the rest in no very good temper, and then went out intu About ten minutes before school Martin and Arthur arrived in ths quadrangle breathless, and, catching sight of him, Artnur rushed up allexcitement and witha bright glow on his face. “Oh, Tum, look here,” cried he, holding ouf three moor-beu’s egg3; “we've becn down to Barby Road to the pool Martin told ws of last nighr, and just seo what we’ve got,” Tom woulidn’t be pleased, and only looked out for some*hing to find fault with, “Why, young un,” said he, “what have you been after? You don’t mean to say you’ve beou Wa- ding?” The tone of reproach made poor little Arthur shrink up in @ moment and look piteous, and Tom, with @ shrug of his shoulders, turned his anger on Martin. “Weil, I didn’t think, Madman, that you’d have beea such amnff xs to let him be getting wet. through at this time of day. You might have dune the wading yourself,” “So I did, of course, only he would come in too, to sce the nest. Woe left six eggs in; they’ll be natched in a duy or two.” “Hang the eggs!” said Tom; “a fellow can’t turn his back for a moment, but all hig work’s ua- done. He’ll be laid up for a week for tnis precious lark, Vl be bound.” “Tndeed, Tum, now,” pleaded Arthur, “my fect ain’6 wet, for Martin made me take off my shocs and stockings and trowsers,” “But they are wet and dirty, too—ean’t I seo? answered Tom; “and youll be called up and floored when the master secs whatastate yowre in. You haven't looked at second lesson, you know.” Oh Tom, youold humbug! you to be up- raiding any one with not learning ibeir lessous. It you hadn’t becn floored yoursel: now at first lesson, do you mean to say you wouldn’t have been with them? aud you've taken away all poor hittle Arthux’s joy and pride in his first birds? eges, aud he goes and puts them down in the study, and takes down his Looks with a sigh, thinking he has done something horribiy wrong, whereéss he has learnt onuinadvance much more than will be done at second lesson, But the old Madman buasn’t, and gets called up and makes some frightful shots, losing abows ten places, and all bué getting floored. Turis some- Whutappeases Tom’s wrath, and by ihoend of the lesson he has regained his temper. Aad after Wurds 10 their study he begins to get right again, as he watches Arthur’s luiense joy at seeing Martin blowing the cggs and glueing them ¢are- tuliy on to bits of cardboard, aud notes the unxious loving looks which the little fellow casts sidelougat lim, And then he tuinks, “ What an ill-tempered beast L am! Hoere’s just what £ was Wishing for last night come about, aud ’m spoiling itall,’ and in another five miuutes he has swallowed the last mouthful of his bile, and is repaid by seeing his little sensitive plant expand. again, and sun itselfin bis smiles. Atrer dtnuer the Madman is busy with prepara- tious for the expeditivn, fitting new straps on tu Wis Gumbing-irons, filliug large pill-boxes with cottonu-wuol, wud Sshurpening East’s small axe, Tuey carvy all their munitions into cailing-over,. aud directly afterwards, having dodged sucn praepostors as are ou the look-vut for fags at cricket, the four set offat a smart tros down the Liwiord foot-path straight fur Caldecoit’d Siu- uvy wud Lue huwk’s nest. Martin leads the way in high feather. Ib is quite a new sensation to him getting coinpanivis, uud ho filuds it very pleasant, and means io sa0w them wil manner of proofs of his science and skill, ‘“ Browa unu East may be better at cricket aud toot-bail and games,” thinks he, pat oo iin” the itelds and woods see if I can’t teuch thous sumeching.” Ho hus taken the leadership already, aud scrides away in front with his climbing-irons strupped under one ara, his pecking-pay under tae obtuer,and his pockets and hat ful) of pili- boxXes, cotron-woul, and otuer vtceteras. Buca of tLe Gibers carries a pecking-bug, and East lis hatenel. Wuen they had crossed three orfour flel is with- out a check, Artiur began to lag, wac Pom sceine tais shouted io Murtinto pull up a bit: ** We wu's out Hare-und-nounds—wuhat's the good vf gsriud- iag on abthis rate?’ : “Tuer@’s tye spinuey,” said Martinjjp sing up on the brow ofa siope at She bootom which lay Lawiord Brook, aud pointing to the top of te op- posire slope; “the nest isin ove of those high fir trees at this end Amd down by the brook there, [know of a sedge-bird’s nest; we'll go and look atic cominy back.” me “Oh, come ou, don’t let us stop,” said Arthur, who wag getting excited at thesight of the wood; so they broke into a trot again, and were soon across the brook, up the slope, andinty the spin. ney Hero they advanced us nolselessly as possi , ple, lest keepers or other enemies should be avout,
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TOM BROWN’'S SCHOOL DAYS. OO aOOOOosSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsS$SsSsSsSs$s3s.ssss.ijn‘j‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘ and stopped at the foot of a tall fir, at the top of which Martin pointed out with pride the kestrel’s nent, the objéct of their quest. “Oh where! which isit?” asks Arthur, gap- ing up 1m the air, and having the most vague idea of what it would be like. ~ “There, don’t you see!” said East, pointing to a lump of mistletoe in the next tree, which was a beech: he saw that Martin and Tom were busy with the ciimbing-irons, and couldn’t resist the temptation of hoaxing. Arthur stared and won- dered more than ever. “Well, how eurious! it doesn’t look a bit like what I expected,” said he. > “Very odd birds, kestrels,” said East, looking wiggishly at his victim, who was still star- guzing. “But I thought it was in a fir-tree?” objected Arthur, “ Ab, don’t you know? that’s a new sort of fir whieh sold Caldecoit brought from the Hima- day as.’ “Really!” said Arthur; “I’m glad Iknow that —how unlike our firs they are! They do very well too here, don’t they 3 the spinney’s full of them. “What's that humbug he’s telling you ?”’ cried Tow, looking up, having caught the word Hima- jaras, and suspecting what East was after. “Ouly about this fir,” said Arthur, putting his hand ov the stem of the beech. “Firl” shouted Tom ; “why, you don’t mean to say, youvg up, you don’t know a beech when you see one?” Poor little Arthur looked terribly ashamed, and Eust exploded in laughter which made the wood ring, “Tye hardly ever seen any trees,” faltered Arthur, ““ What a shame to hoax him, Seud!” cried Mar- tin, “Never mind, Arthur, you shall know more about trees than he does in a weekor two.” ne ae isn’t that the kestrel’s nest, then ?” asked rthur, “That ! why, that’s a piece of mistletoe. There’s the nest, that lump of sticks up this fir.” “Don’t believe him, Arthur,” struck in the in- eorrigible East; “I just saw an old magpie go out of it.” Martin did not deign to reply to this sally, ex- cept by a grunt, as he buckled the last bucklo of his climbing-irons; and Arthur looked reproach- fully at Hast witbout speaking. But now came the tug of war. It was avery difficult tree to climb until the brauches were reached, the first of which was some fourteen tvet up, for the trunk was too large at the bottom to be swarmed; in fact neither of the boys could reach wore than half round it with their arms, Martin and Tom, both of whom had irons on, tried it without success at first; tho fir bark Oroke away where they stuck tho irons in as soon as they leaned any weight on their feet, and the evip of their arms wasn’t enough to keep them up; 80, alter getting up three or four feet, down they came slithering tothe ground, barking their arms and faces. They were furious, and East sat by laughing and shouting at each failure, “ Two 10 one on the old magpie!” “We must try a pyramid,’ said Tom at last. “Mow, Seud, you luzy rascal, stick yourself against te tree!” “J dare suy! and have you standing on my shoulders with the 1rons on; what do you think my skin’s mado of?” However, up he got and leaned against the tree, putting his head down and clasping ib with bis arms as far as he could. _ “Now, then, Madman,” said Tom, “you next.” “No, Dm lighter than you; you gonext.” So Tom «ot on Eastv’s shoulders and grasped the bree above, and then Martin scrambied up on to Tom’s shoulders, amidst the totteringsard groan- nigsof the pyramid, and with a spring which sent his supporters howling to the ground, clasp- ed the stein some ten feet up, and remained clinging. For a moment or two they thought he eouldn’t get up, but then holding on with arms and teeth, he worked first one iron then tho other firmly into the bark, got anorher grip with his arms and in another minute had hold of the low- est branch. “All up with the old magpie now,” said East; and after a minute’s rest, up went Martin, hand over hand, watched by Arthur, with tearful eager- ness. “Isn’é it very dangerous?” said he. “Nota bit,” answered Tom; “you can’t hurt, if you only get good hand hold, Try every branch with a good pull before you trust it, and then up you go.’ Martin was how amongst the small branches close to the nest, and away dashed the old bird ee soared up above the trees, watching the in- truder, “All right—four eggs!” shouted he. “Take ’em all!’ shouted East; “that’ll bo one apiece.” “No, no! leave one and then she won’t care,” saict ‘Tom. We boys had an idea that birds couldn’t count, and were quite content as long as you left one org. I hope it is so. artin carefully put one egg into each of his hoxes, and the third into his mouth, the only other place of safety, and came down like a lamp- Nghter. All went well till he was within ten feet of the ground, when, as the trunk enlarged, his Sold got Jess and less firm, and at last down he camo with a run, tumbling on to his back on the turf, spluttering and spitting out the remains of one aes egg, which had broken by the jar of do fall. “Ugh, ugh! something to to drink—ugh! it was addled,” spluttered he, while the woods rang again with the merry laughter of East and Tom. Then they examined the prizes, gathered up their things and went off to the brook, where Martin swallowed huge.draughts of water to get rid of the taste; and they visited the sedgebird’s nesf, and from thence struck across the country in high glee, beating the hedges and brakes as they went along; and Arthur at last, to his in- tenso delight, was allowed to elimb a small hedgerow oak for a magpie’s nest with Tom, who kept all around him like a mother, and showed him where to hold and how to throw his weight; and though he was in a great fright, didn’t show it, and was applauded by all for bis lissomeness.’ They crossed a road soon afterwards, and there, close to them, lay a beap of charming pebbles. “Look here,” shouted East, ‘bere’sluck! Ive been longing for some good honest pecking this half hour. Let’s fill the bags, and have no more of this foozling bird’s-nesting.” No ons objevied, 80 each boy filled the fustian bag ho carried full of stones: they crossed into the next field, Tom and East taking one side of the hedges, and the other two the other side. Noise enough they made certaiuly, but it was too early in the Sere ae the young birds, and the v. tbirds were toO’strong on the wing for our young marksmen, and flew out of shot after the tirst discharge. But it was great fun, rushing along the hedgerows, and discharging stone after scone at blackbirds and chaffinches, though nore- suit in the shape of slaughtered birds was optain.d; and Arthur soon entered into it, and rushed to head back-the birds, and shout- ed, und threw, and tumbled into ditches and over through bedges, as wild as the Madman himselt. Presently the party, in full ery after an old blackbird (who was evidently used to the thing and enjoyed the fun, for he would wait till they came close to him and then fly on for forty yards or so, and with an impudent flicker of his tail, dartinto the depths of the quickset), came beati- ing down a high double hedge, two on each side. “Tnere he is again.” “Head him;” “Let drive;” “Thad him there;” ‘Tako care where yowre throwing, Madman:;” tho shouts might have been heard a qurter of a mile off. They were heard some two bundred yards off by a farmer and two of his shepherds, who were doctoring sheep in the next field. Now the farmer in question rented a house and yard situated at the end of the fie!d in which the young bird-fanciers had arrived, which house and yard he didn’t occupy or keep any one else in. Nevertheless, like a brainless and nnreasoning Briton,he persisted in maintaining on the premises a large stock of cocks, hens, aud other poultry, Of course all sorts of depredators visited the place from time to time; toxes snd gypsies wrought havoc in the mght time; while in the day-time, [regret to have to confess that visits from the Rugby boys, and consequent disap pear- ances of ancient and respectable fowls, were not unfrequent. Tomand East had during the period of their outlawry Visited the barn in question for felonious purposes, and on one occasion. Bad con- quered an/l slaina duck there,and borne away the carcass triumphantly, hidden in their hand- kerchiefs. However, they were sickened ot the practice by the trouble and anxiety which the wretched duck’s body caused them. They car- ried it to Sally Harrowell’s, in hopes of a good supper; butshe, after examining it, mado a long face, and refused to dress or have any thing to do withit. Then they took into their study, and be- gan pluckingib themselves; but what to do with feathers, where to hide them? “Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a duck has!” groaned East, holding a bag full in his hand, andlooking disconsolately at the carcass, not yet half plucked. * And I do think he’s getting high, too, already,” said Tom, smelling at him cautiously, ‘so we must finish him up soon.” “Yes, all very well, but how are we to cook him? I’m sure Lain’t going to try it on in the hall or passages; we can’t afford to be roasting ducks about, our character is to bad.” “T wish we wererid of the brute,” said Tom, throwing him on the table in disgust. And after a day or two moro it became clear that got rid of he must be; so Shey paceen him and sealed him up in brown paper, and put him in the cupbuard of an unocoupied study, where he was found in the holidays by the matron, a grewsome body. They had never been duck-hunting there since, but others had, and the bold yeoman was very sore on the subject, and bent on making an ex- ample of the first boys he could catch. Sohe and his shepherds crouched behind the hurdles, and watched the party who were approaching ull un- conscious, Why should that old guinea-fow] be lying out in tho hedge just at this particular moment of all tho year? ho can say? Guinea-fowls always are—so are all other things, animals, and persons —requisite for getting ono into scrapes, always ready when any mischief cah come of them. At any rate, just under East’s noso popped out the old guinea-hen, scuttling along and shrieking “ Come back, come back,’’ at the top of her voice. Either of the other three might perhaps have withstood the temptation, but East first lets drive the stone he has in his hand at her, and then rushes to turn her into the hedgo again. He suc- ceeds, and then they are ail at it for dear life, up and down the hedge in full cry, the ‘Come back, come back,” getting whriller and fainter every minute. Meantime, the farmer and his men steal over the hurdles and creepy down the hedge towards the scene of action, They are almost within a Stone’s throw of Martin, whois pressing the une lucky chase hard, when Tom catehes sight of them, and sings out, “Louts,’ware louts, your side! Madman, lqok anead!’ an@ then cateh- ing hold of Arthur, hurries him away across the fields towards Rugby as hard as they can tear. Had he been by himself, he would have siaid to see it out with the others, but now his heart sinks, and all his pluck gues. The idea of being led up to the Doctor with Arthur for bagging foes: quite unmans and takes half the run out of him, However, no boys are more able to take care of themselves than East and Martin; they dodge the pursuers, slip through a gup, and come pelt- ing after Tom and Arthur, whom they catch up in no time; the farmerand his men are making goodrupning abouta field behind. Tom wishes to himself that they bad made off in auy other direction, but now they are allin for it together, and must sec isout. “You won’tleave the young un, will you?” ae he, as they haul poor little Arthur, already losing wind from the fright. through the next heage. “Not we,” is the an- swer from both. The next hedge is a stiff one; the pursuers gained horribly on them, and they only just pull Arthur through, wifh two great rents 1n bis trowsers, as the foremost shepherd comes up on the other side. As they start into the next field, they are aware of two firures walking down the tootpath in the middle of ik, and recognize Holmes and Diggs taking a constl tutional. Those good-natured fellows immedi- ately shout‘*On.” *Let’s go to them and sur render,’ pants Tom.—Agreed.—Aud in another minute thefour boys, tothe great astonishment of those worthies, rush breathless up to Holmes and Diggs, who pull up to see what is the matter; and then the whole is explained by the. appear- anco of the farmer and his men, who unite their forces and bear down on the knot of boys. There is no tims to explain, and Tom’s heard beats frightfully quick, as he ponders, “ Will they stand by us?” The farmer makes a rush at East and collars him; and that young gentleman, with unusual discretion, instead of kicking his shins, looks ap- pealingly at Holmes, and stands still. ; “Hullo there, not so fast,” says Holines, who i# bound to stand up for them till they are proyedin the wrong. “Now whav’s all this about?” “Yye got the young ¥armit at last, have I,” pants the farmer; “why, they’ve been a skulking about my yard and stealing my towls, that’s whera tis; aud if I doan’t have they flogged for lt, every one on’em, my name ain’t Thompson.” Holmes looks grave, and Digg’s face falls. They are quite ready to tight, no boys in the shool more s0; but they ure preepostors, and understand their office, and can’s uphold unrighteous causes. “T haven’t been vear his old barn this half,” cries East. ‘Nor I,” “Nor I,” chime in Tom and Martin. ; “Now, Willum, didn’t you see ’em there last week?” “Wes, I seen ’em sure enough,” says Willum, grasping a prong he carried, and preparing for action. The boys deny stoutly, and Willum is driven te admit that, “If it worn’t they ’twas chaps as like em as tivo peas’n;” and “ leastways he’!l swear ha see’d them two in the yard last Martinmas,” in- dicating Bast and Tom. Holmes has had time to meditate. “Now, sir,” says he to Willum, “you seo vou can't remember what you have seen, and [ believe the boys.” : “T don’t care,” blusters the farmer; ‘they wag arter my fo ls to-day, that’s enough forl. Willum, you eatch hold o’ t'ether chap, They’ve been a sneaking aout this two hours, I tells ee,” shouted hoe, as Holmes stands between Martin and Willam, “on: have druv a matter of a dozen young pulleta pretty nigh to death.” “Oh, there’s a whacxer!” erled East; ‘wa haven’t been within a hundred yards of his barn: wo haven’t been up here above ten minutes, and we’ve seen nothing but a tough old guinea-hen, who ran like a greyhound.” 7 “Tndeed, that’s all true, Holmes, upon my honor,” added Tom; ‘* we weren’t ufter his fowls; guinea-hen ran out of the hedge under our feer, and we’ve seen nothing else.” “Drat that talk! Thee cateh hold o’ t’other, Willum, and come along wi’ ’un.” “Parmer Thompson,” said Holmes, warning off Willum and the prong with his stick, while Dizes faced the other shepherd, cracking his fingers liks pistol-shots, ‘“‘nuw listen to reason—the boys haven’t been after your fowls, that’s plain, “Tells ee Iseed’em. Who be you, lL should like o know 4” : “Never you mind, Farmer,” answered Holmes. “And now I'll just tell you whatit is—you ought to be ashamed of yourself for leaving all that poultry about, with no one to watch it, so near the School. You deserve to havoit allstolen. Be it you choose to cyme up to the Doctor with then,
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26 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. —— ee SS lls I shall go with you, and tell him what I think of it. The farmer began to take Holmes for a master; besides, he wanted to get back to his flock. Cor- poral punishment was out of the question, the odds were too great; so he began to hint at pay- ing for the damage. Arthur jumped at this, offer- ing to pay any thing, and the farmer immediately valued the guinea-hen at half a sovereign. “Half a sovereign!” cried East, now released from the farmer’s grip; “well, thatis a good one! the old hen ain’t hurt a bit, and she’sseven years old, L[know, and as tough as whipcord; she couldn't lay another egg to save her Jife.” it wasat last settled that they should bay the farmer two shillings, and his man one shilling, and so the matter ended, to the unspeakable re- liet of Tom, who hadn’t been ablo to gay a word, being sick at heart at the idea of what the Doctor would ibink of lim; and now the whole party of boys marched off down the footpath towards Rugby. Holmes, who was one of the bast boys in the school, began to improve the occasion. “Now, you youngsters,” said he, as he marched along in the middle of them, “ mind this; you’re very well out of thisserape. Don’t you gomearThompson’s barn again, do you hear!” : Profuse promises from all, especially East. “Mind, I don’t ask questions,” went on Mentor, “hut [rather thiuk some of you have been there before this after lis chickens. Now, koocking over other people’s chickens, and running off with them, is stealing. Ii’s a nasty word, but that’s the plain English ofit. If the chickens were dead andlying in a shop, you wouldn’t take then, I know that, any more than you would apples out _ ot Griffith’s basket; but there’s 110 real difference between chickens running about and applesona tres, andthe same articles in a shop. Tish our morals were sounder in such matters. Tnere’s nothing so mischievous as these school distine- tions, which jumble uprightand wrong andjustify things ju us tor which poor boys would be sent to prison.” And good old Holmes delivered his soul on the walk home of many wiso sayings, and, as the song says, “ Gee’d ’em a sight of goou advice;” which same sermon sank into them all more or less, and very penitent they were for several hours. Buttrutu compels me to admit that East atany rate forgotit allin wa week, butremembered the insulf which Lad been putupon him by Farmer Thompsou, and, with Tadpole and other hare- brained youngsters, committed a raid on the barn soon afterwards, in Whieh they were caught by the shepherds and severely haadled, besides hay- ing to pay eight shillings—all the money they had in the world—to escaps being taken up to the Doctor. - Martin became a constant inmate in the joint study from this time,and Arthur took to him so kindly that Tom couldn’t resist slight fits of jeal- ousy, which however he managed to keep to him- self, The kestrel’s eggs had not been broken, strange to say, andformed the nucleus of Arthur's collection,at which Martin worked heartand soul; and introduced Arthurto Howlett the bird-fancier, nud instructed himin the rudiments of the art of stuffiog. In token of his gratitude, Arthur allow- ed Murtin to tattoo asmallanchor on one of his wrists, which decoration, however, he carefully concealed from Tom. Before the end of the halt- year he had trained intu a boldclimber and good runner, and as Martin had toretold, know twice as much about trees, birds, flowers, and many other things, at our good-hearted and facetious young friend Harry East. CHAPTER V. THE FIGHT. There is a certain sort of fellow—we who are used to studying boys ali know bim well enough ~of whom you can predicate with almost positive certainty, after he has been a month at school, that beis sure to have a fight, and with almost equalcertéinty that he will have butone. Tom rown was one of these; aud us it is our well- weighed intention to give a full, true, and correct account of Lom’s only single combat with a school-fellow in the wanner of our old triend Bell's Life, \et those young persons whose stom- achs aré not strong, or who think a good set-to with the weapons which God has given us ali, an uncivilized, unchristian, or ungenuemanly aifair just skip this chapter at once, for it won’t be to their taste. It was not at all usual in those days for two School-house boys to have a fight. Of course there were exceptions, When some cross-graiued, hurd-headed tellow came up who would never be lappy unless he was quarreling with his nearest neighbors, or when there was come class dispute Yebween the fifth form and the fags, lor instance, Which required blood-letting; and a champion was picked ont on each side tacitly, who settled the marter by a good hearty mill. But for the most part, the constant use o/ tuose surest keep-~ crs of the peace, the boxing-gloves, kept the School-house boys from fighting one another. Two or three nights ia every week the gloves were brought out, either in che bail or fifth-rorm rooni; and every boy who was ever likely to fight at all kuew all his neighbors’ prowess perfectiy well, and eewd tellto a nicety what chance he would have én a stand-up fight with any other boy in the house. sutof course no such experieuco couid be gotten as regarued boysin otuer houses; and as most of the other houses were more or less jealous of the School-house, collisions were fre- quent. aie After all, what would hfe be without fighting, Ishould like to know? From the cradle to the grave, fighting, rightly understood, is the busi- ness, the real, highest, honestest business, of every son of man. Every one who is worth his salt has his enemies, who must be beaten, be they evil thoughts and habits in himself or spirit- ual wickedness in high places, or Russians, or Border-ruffians, or Billf Tom, or Harry, who will not let him live his life in quiet till he-has thrash- ed them. Itis mo good for Quakers, or any other body of men, to uplift their voices against fighting. Hu- man nature is too strong for them, and they don’t follow their own precepts. Every soul ofthemis doing his own piece of fighting, somehow and some- where. Tho world might be a better world with- out fighting, for anything I know, but it wouldn’t be our world; and therefore I am dead against erying peace, when there isno peace, and isn’t meant tobe. I amas sorry asany man to see folk fighting the wrong people and the wrong things, but I’d a dealsooner see themdoing that than that they should have no fightin t»em. So having recorded, and being about to record, my hero’s fights of all sorts, with all sorts of ene- mies, shall now proceed to give an account of his passage-at-arms with the only one of his school-fellows whom he ever had to encounter in this manner. It was drawing towards the close of Arthur’s first half year, and the May evenings were length- ening out. Locking-up was not till eight ‘o’clock, and everybody was beginning to talk about what he would doin the holidays. Tho shell,in which | form all our dramatis persone now are, were read- ing amongst other things the last bookof Homer’s Tliad, and had worked through it asfur asthe speeches of the women over Hector’sbody. I[t is a whole school-day, and four or five of the School- house boys (among whom are Arthur, Tom, and East) ave preparing third lesson together. They have finished the regulation forty lines, and are for the most part getting very tired, notwith- standing the exquisite pathos of Helen’s lamenta- tion. And now several long toutr-syllabled words come together, and the boy with the dictionary strikes work. “Tam not going to look out any more words,” says he; “we’ve done the quantity. Ten to one We shan’t get so far. Let’s go out into the close.” “Come along, boys,” cries East, always ready to leave “the grind,” as he called it; “‘ our old coach is laid up, you know, and we shall have one of thenew masters, Who’s sure to go slow and let us down eaay.” So an adjournment to the close was carried nem con., little Arthur not daring to uplift his voice; but being deeply interested in what they were reading, staid quietly behind, and learnt on for his own pleasure. As East had said, the regular master of the form was unwell, and they were to be heard by one of the new masters, quite a young man, who had only just left the University. Certainly it would be hard lines, if, by dawdling as much as possiljle in coming in and taking their places, entering into long-winded explanations of what was the usual course or the regular master of the form, und others of the stock contrivances of boys for waisting time in school, they could not spin out the lesson so that he should not work them through more than the forty lines; as to which quantity there was a perpetual fight going on between the master and his form, the latter insisting, and enforcing by passive resistance, thatit was the prescribed quantity by Homer for a shell lesson, the former tuat there was uno fixed quantity, but that thay must always be ready to go on to fifty or sixty lines if there were uime within the hour. However, notwithstanding all their efforts, the new master got on horribly quick; he seemed tohave the bad taste to be really interested in the lesson, and to be trying to work them up into something like appreciation of it, giving them goodspirited Bugiisn words, in- stead of the wretched bald stuff into which they rendered poor old Homer, and construing over eack piece himself to them, after each boy, to show them how it shou!d be done, Now the clock strikes the three-quarters; there ‘is only a quarter of an hour more, but the forty lines are all but done. So tha boys, one atter another, who are called up, stick ore and more, and make balder aud even more bald work of it. The poor young master is pretty well beat by this time, and feeis ready to kuock lis head against the wall, or his fingers‘against somebody else’s head. So he gives up altogether the lower and middle parts of the form, aud looks round in des- pair at the boys onthe top bench, to see if there is one out of whom he ean strike a spark or two, and who will be too chivalrous to murder the most beautiful utterences of the most beautiful woman of the old world, His eye rests on Arthur, and he calls him up to finish construing Helen’s speech, Whereupon all the other boys draw long breaths, and begin to stare about and take itecasy. They are all safe; Arthur is the nead of the form, aud sure to be able to construe, aud that will tide on safely tilthe hour strikes. Arthur proceeds to read out the passage in Greek before construing it, as the custom is, Tom, who isn’t paying much attention, is sudden — ly caught by the falterin his Voice as he reads. He looks up at Arthur. “Why, bless us,’” thinks he, “what can be the matter with the young un? He’snever going to cetfloored. He’s sure to have learnt to the end.” Next momeuthe isreassured bythe spirited tone in whieh Arthur begins construing, and betakes himself to draw- ing dogs’ heads in his nete-book, while the master, evidently enjoying the change, turns his back on the middle bench, and stands before Arrhur, beat- ing a sort of time with lis band and foot, and saying, “Yes, yes.” ‘Very well,” as Arthur goes on. But as he nears the last fatal lines, Tom catches that falter, and again looks up. He sees that there is something the matter: Arthur can hardly get on atall. What canit be? Suaddenl yat this point Arthur breaks down al- together, and fairly bursts out erying, and dashes the cuff of his jacket across his eyes, blushing up fo the roots of his hair, and feeling asif ho should like to go down suddenly through the floor. The whole form are taken aback; most of them stare stupidly at him, while those whoare gifsed with presence of mind find their places, and look steadily at their books, in hopes of not catching ne master’s eye, and getting calledup in Arthur’s place. The master looks puzzled for a moment, and then seeing, as the fact is, that the boy is realiy affected to tears by the wost touching thing in Homer, perhaps 1n all profane poeiry put to- gether, steps up to him and lays lis hand kindly on his shouldar, saying, ‘Never mind, wy little man, you’ve construed very well. Stop a minute, there’s no hurry.” Now, as luck would have it, there sat nexé above Tom on that day,in the middle bench of the form, a big boy, by pame Williams, generally supposed to be the cock of the shell, therefore of all the school below the fifths. The small boys, who are great speculators on the prowess of their elders, used to hold forth to ous another about Williams’s great strength, and to discuss whether Eass or Brown would take @ licking from him. He was called Slogger Williams, trom the fores with which it was supposed he Gould hit. Ta the main, he was a rough, good-natured fellow enough, bul very much alive to his own dignity. He reckoned himself the king of the form, and kept up his position with tho strong hand, espe- cially inthe matter of forcing boys not to con- strue more than the legitimate forty lines. He had already grunted and grumbled to himsel!, when Artbur went on reading beyond the’ forty jiness But now that he had broken down just in the middle of all the long words, the Sivgger’s wrath was fairly aroused. : “Sneaking little brute,” muttered he, regardless of prudence, “clapping on the water-works jusc in the hardest place; see if I don’t punch his head after the fourth Jesson.” “Whose?” said Tom, to whom the remark seem- ed to be addressed. “Why, that little sneak Arthur’s,” replied Wil- liams, “No, you shan’t,” said Tom, “ Hullo!’ exclaimed Willams, looking at Tom with great surprise for a moment, and then giving him w sudden dig in the ribs with bis elbow, which sent Tom’s books flying on to the floor, and called the attention of the master, who turned suddenly round, and seeing the state of things, said— “Williams, go down three places, and then go on. The Slogger found his legs very slowly, and proceeded to go below Tom and two other boys with great disgust, and then, turning round and facing the master, said, ‘‘I hayen’d learnt any more, 81"; Our lesson is only forty lines.” “Ts thatso?”’ said the master, appealing gen- erally to the top bench. No answer. “Who is the head boy of the form?” said he, waxing wroth. ’ “Arthur, sir,” answered three or four boys, in dicating our friend, - “Oh, your name’s Arthur. Well, now, what is the lengul of your regular lesson ?” Arthur hesitated a moment, and then said, ‘We call it only forty lines, sir.” “Tow do you mean you eall it?” “Well, sir, Mr. Graham says we ain't to stop there when there’s time to construe more.” “YT unders.and,” said the master. ‘ Williams, go down three more places, and write me out the lesson in Greek and English. And now, Arthur, tinish construing.” “Oh! would Ibe in Arthur’s shoes after fourth: lesson?” said (he little bays to one another: bub Arthur finished Helen’s spsech without uny fur- ther ¢atastrophe, and the clock scruck four, whicn ended third lesson. : = Another hour was occupied in preparing and saying fourth iesson, during which Williams was bovtling up his wrath; and when five struck, and the lessens for the day were over, he prepared to tuko summary Vengeauce on the innocent cause of his misfortune. | . Tom was detained in school a few minutes after the rest, and on coming out into the quadrangle, tno first thing he saw was a small riug of boys, applauding Willams, wuo was holding Arraur by the collar, “There, you young sneak,” said he, giving Ar- thur a culf on the head with his other hand, “ what made you say that—” “Hallo %” said Tom, shouldering into ths crowd, |
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“vou drop that, Williams; you shan’t touch him.” “Who'll stop me?” said the Slogger, raising his} already that he couldn’é go in and fiuish the Sioc- hand again. “T,” said Tom; and suiting the ection 10 the) tactics completely in the third round, He now word, he struck the arm which heid Arcbur’s arm so sharply that_the Slogger dropped ic with a start, and turned the full current of his wrath on Tom. “Will you fight?” “Yes, of course,” * Huzzau! there's going to be a figbt between Siogger Williams and Tom Brown!” The news ran like wildfire about, and many boys who were on their way to tea at their sev- erul houses turned back, and sought the back of the chapel, where the fights come off. “Just run and tell East to come and back me,” said ‘tom to @ small Schoolhouse boy, who was off like a rocket to Harrowell’s, just stopping for a moment to poke his héad into the School-house hall, wuere the lower boys were already at tea, and sing out, “ Fight! Tom Brown and Slogger Williams.” Up start half the boys at once, leaving bread, eggs, butter, sprats, and all the rest to take care of themselves. The greater part of the remainder follow in a winute, after swallowing their tea, earrying theirfood iv their hand§ to consume as they go. Three or four only remain, who stealthe butter of the more impetuous, and make to them- selves an unctuous feast. In another minute East and Martin tear through the quanrangle, carrying a sponge, and arrive at ths seene of action justas the combatants are beginning to strip. Tom felt he had got his work cut out for him, as he stripped off his jacket, waistcoat and braces. Bast tied his handkerchief round his waist, aud rolled up his sbirt-sleeves for him: ‘Now, old boy, don’& you open your mouth to say @ word, or try to help yourself a bit—we’ll do allthat; you keep all your breath and strength for the Slogger.” Martin meanwhile folded the clothes and put them under the ¢hapel rails; and now Tom, with East to handle him,and Martin to give hima knee, steps outon the turf, and is ready for all that may come; and here is the Slogger too, all stripped, and thirsting forthe fray. It doesn’t look a fair mated at first giance: Williams isnoarly two toches taller, and probably along year older than Lis opponeut, and he is very #tronugly made about the arms and suouiders —‘* peels well,” as the little knot of big tiftu-form boys, the umateurs say; who stand outside the ring of little boys, looking complacently on, but taking no active part in the proceedings. Bat down below he is not so good by any meaus; no spring from the loins, and feebdieish, not to say shipwrecky about the knees, Tom, ou the cou- trary, though not half so strong in the arms, 13 good all over, straigat, hard, and springy, from neck to aukle, betier perhaps in his legs than anywhere. Besides, you can see by the clear white of bis eye, and fresh bright look of his skin, chat he isin tip-top training, able todo ail he knows; while the Slogger looks rather sodden, as if he didn’t take much exercise and ate too much tuck. The time-keeper is chosen, u large ring made, and the two stand up opposite one nnother for # moment, giving us time just to make our little observations. “Tf Tom'll only condescend to fisht with his heud and heels,” a3 East mutters to Martin, “ we shall dow But seemingly he won’t, for there he goes in, making play with both hands. Hard all, is the word; the two stand to one another like men; rally follows rally in quick succession, each figat- ing asif he thought to finish the whole thing out ofhand, ‘Can’t last at this rate,” say the know- ing ones, while the partisans of each make the air ring with their shouts and counter-shouts of encouragement, approval, and defiance, “Take ib easy, take if casy—keep away, let him come after you,” implores East, as he wipes Tom’s facoatierthe first round with a wet sponge, while he sits back on Martin’s knee, supported by the Madman’s long arms, which tremble a little from excitement. “'Time’s up,” calls the time-keeper. “There he goes again, hang it all!” growls East, as lis man is abit again, us hard asever. A very severe round follows, in which Tom gets out aud out the worst of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, and deposited on the grass by a right-hander from the Slogger, Loud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger’s house, und the School-house are silent and vicious, ready to pick quarrels anywhere. ; 4 “Pwo to one in half-crowns ou the big un,” says Rattle, one of the amateurs, a tall fellow, in thun- der-and-ligutning waistcoat, and pufty, good- patured face. “Douel” gays Groove, another amateur of nieter lookptaking out his note-book to enter it, or our friend Rattle sometimes forgets these lit- tle things. Meantime Hast is freshening up Tom with the ' sponges for next round, and has set two other boys to rub his hands, “Tom, old boy,’? whispers he, “this may be fun ‘for you, but it’s death to me. He’l! hit all the light out of you in another five minutes, and then Isuall yo aud drown myself in the island diteh. Feint him—use your legs! draw him about! he’il Sapte, 5s thy wee att a time, eh you can go in i . at his body tou; we’. 5 t frontispiece by-and-by” fi ah gee TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS. Tom felé the wisdom of the counsel, and sass | ger off at mere hammer und tongs, sochanzed his fights cautiously, getcinga way irom and parrying tue Slogger’s lunging hits, instead of trying to counter, and leading his enemy a dance all round the.ting after him. “He’s funking—vzo in Wil- liams;” “ Catch him up;” “ Finish him off,” scream the small boys of the Slogger party. “Just what we want.” thinks East, chuckling to himself, as_he sees Williams, excited by these shouts, and ‘thinking the game in his own hands, hlowing himself in his exertions to get to close quarters again, while Tom is keeping away with perfect ease, They quarter over the ground again and again, Tom always on the defensive. ieee Slogger pulls up at last for a moment, fairly own. “Now then, Tom,” sings out East, danemg wita delight. Tom ,goes in in a twinkling, and hits two heavy body-blows, and gets away again be- fore the Stogger can catch his wind; which when he does he rushes with blind fury at Tom, and being skilfully parried and avoided, overreaches himself and falls- on his face, amidst terrific cheers from the School-house boys. “Double your two to one?’ says Groove to Rat- tle, note book in hand. “Stop a bit,” says that hero, looking uncomfort- ably at Williams, who is puffing away on his second’s Knge, winded enough, but little the worse in any othe way. After another round the Slogger too seems to see that he can’s go in and win right off, and has met his match or thereabouts. 8o he too begins to use his head, and tries to make Tom lose his patience, and come in before his time. And so the fight sways on, andnow one, then the other Ketting a trifling pull. ‘fom’s face bexius to look very one-sided—there are little queer bumps on his forehead, and his mouth is bleeding; but Bast keeps the wetspone going so scientifically that he comes up looking as fresh and brigut ay ever. Williams is oaly slightly murkedin che face, bat by the nervens movement of his Glbouws you can see that Tom’s body-blows ure telling. In tact, half the vive of the Slogger’s hitting is neutralized, for he daren’s lunge out freeiy for fear of exposing his sides. It is tov interesting by this ime for wuch shouung, and the waole ring is very quiet. “Allright, tommy,” whispers East; ‘hold on’s the horse thav’s to Win. We've #06 the last. Keep your head, vld hoy ” Bat where is Aithur all this tine? Worus cannot paint tne poor little fellow’s distress. He couldu’t uster Courage to Goume up to the rox, bab wan- dered up and down from the great tives’-court to the corner of the chapel raiis—now trying to make up his mia to throw himself between them, and try to stop them; then thinking of ran- niug in and telling his friend Mary, who he knew would instantly report to the Docior. The stories he had heard of men being killed in prize-lights rose up horribly before hin. Once only, When the suouts of ‘ Well done, Brown!” “Huzzah for the School-house!” rose higher than ever, he ventured up to the ring, thinking the victory was wou. Catching sight of Tom’s tace in the state I have described, al! fear of consequences yanisuing out of lis mind, be rushed straight off to the matron’s room, beseech- ing her to get the fight stopped, or he should die. But it’s time for us to get back to the close. Wuat is this flerce tumult and confusion? The ring is broken, and hig and angry words are being Bandled about; “It’s all fair?—* Tb isn’v” —No hugging;” the fighfis stopped. Tho com- patunts, however, sit there quietly, tended by their seconds, while their adherents wraugle in tue middle, East can't help siouting challenges to two or three on the otler side, thougu he never feaves Tom for a moment, and plies the sponges as fast as ever, The fact is, that at the end of the last round, Tom, seeing a good opening, had closed with bis opponent, and after a moment's struggle had thrown him heavily, by help of the fall he had learnt from his village rival in the vale of White Horse. Wiliiams hadn’t the ghost of a chance with Tom at wrestling; and the conviction broke até ouce on the Slogger faction that 1f this were allowed, their man must be licked. There wasa strong feeling 1n the school against catching hold and throwing, though it was wenerally ruled all fuir within certain Limits; so the ring was broken, and the fight stopped, The School-house are overruled—the fight is ou again, but there is tobe no throwiug; and Hast in high wrath threatens to take his man away after next rouud (which he don’s mean to do, by-the- way), when suddenly Young Brooke comes through the small gate at the end of the chapel. The School-house faction rush to him. “Oh, hurrah! now we shall get fair play.” “Please, Brooke, come, up; they won’t let Tom Brown throw him,” “Throw whom?” says Brooke, coming up to the ring,. “Ohl Wilhams, T see. Nonsense! of course he may throw him ithe catches him fairly above the waist.” Now, young Brooke, you're in the sixth, you kuow, and you ought to stop all fights, He looks hard at both boys. “Any thing wrong?” says be tu East, nodding at Tom. : “Not a bit.” “Not beat at all?” “Siess you, po! heaps of fight in him. Ain’t tuere, Tom?” Tom looks at Brooke, snd grins. “‘Wow’s he?” nodding at Williams. “So 80; rather done, I think, since his last fall. He won't stand above two more.” “Time’s up!” the boys rise again, and face one another. Brooke can’t find it in his heart to stop them just yet, so the round goes on, the Slogger waiting for Tom, and reserving all bis strength to hit him out suould he come in for the wrestling dodge again, for he feels that that must be stop- pad, or his sponge will soon goup in rho air, And now another new-comer appears on the fivid, to wit, the under-porter, with his long brush and great wooden receptacle for dust under his arm. He has been sweeping out the schools. “Yowd better stop, gentlemen,” he says; “the Doctor knows that Brown’s fighting—he’ll be out in a minute.” “You go to Bath, Bill,” isall that that excellent servitor gets by his advice. Aud being a man of his hands, and a stanch upholder of the School- house, can’t help stopping to look op. for a bit, and “ay Tom Brown, their pet craftsman, tight a ronnd, Itis grim earnest now, and no mistake. Both boys feel this, and summon every powec of head, hand, and eye to their aid. A piece of luck on either side, a foot slipping, a blow getting well home, or another fall, may decide it. Tom works slowly round for an opening; he hus all the legs, and can choose his own time: the Slogger waits for the attack, and hopes to finish it by some heavy right-handed blow. As they quarter slowly over the ground, tho cvening sun comes ont from: behind a cloud, and fulls full on Williams’ Tuce. Tom darts in, the heavy rigaot-hand is delivered, but only graz°s his head. A short rally at close quarters, and they close; in another moment the Siogger is thrown ugaiu heavily for the third ime. “Vil cive you three to two on the little one ia hal -crowus,” said Groove to Rattle. “ Nu, thank’ee,” answers the other, diving his bands farther into his coat-tails. Just ab this stage of the proceedings the dour of the turret which leads to the Doctor’s library suddenly opens, and he steps into the close, aud makes straight for the ring, f@ which Brown and the Slogger are both seated on their seconds” kaees for the last time. “The Doctor! the Ductor!” shouts some small boy who Catenes sight of him, und the riug meiis away in @ few secpnds, the small boys tearing olf, Pom Gollaring bis jacket and waisseoar, aud slipping through the litle gate by the chapel, aud round the corner to Harrowell’s with his backera, as lively as need be; Williams and his vackers making off not quite sv fast across the close; Groove, Rattle, aud the other bigger fellows try- ing to combine digaity and prudence in a comical munuer, and walking off fast enough, they hope, not to bs recognized, aud not fast enough to look like running away. Young Brooke alone remains on the ground by the tine the Doctor gets tucre, and touches his hat, not without a slignt inward qualm. “Hah! Brooke, I am surprised 10 see you here. Don’t you kuow thactl exoect the sixth to stop fighting.” : Brooke felt much more uncomfortable than he nad expected, but he was rather a favorite with the Doctor for his openness and plaimuness of speech; sv blarted out, us he walked by the Doc- tor’s side, who had already turued back— “Yos, sir, generally. But I thought you wished us to exercise a discretion in the matter, too—not to interfere too soon.” “Bub they bave been fighting this half-hour and more,” said the Doctor, “Yes, sir; but neither was hurt. And they’re the sort of boys who'll be all the better triends now, Which they wouldn't tiave been if they had been stopped any earlier—before it was so equal.’”” “Who was fighting with Brown?” said tue Dyc- tor. 2 “Williams, sir, of Thompson’s. He is bigger than Brown, and had the best of it at first, bat not when you come up, sir, There’sa good deak of jealousy between our house and ‘Taompson’s,. and there would have been more fights if this hadn’é been let go on, or if either of them had nad much the worst of it.” “Well but, Brooke,” said the Doctor, “doesn’t this look a little as if you exercised your discre- tion by only stopping a fight when the Senhool- house boy 1s getting the worst of it 1” Epes it must be confessed, felt rather grav- elled. “Now remember,” added the Dvetor, as he stopped at the turret-dvor, “this fight is not to go. ou—you'il see to that. And Iexpect you to stop all fighis in future at once.” “Very well, sir,” said Young Brooke, touching his hat, and not sorry to see bae turret-door close pehin-t the Doctor's back. y > Meantime Tom and the stanchest of his ad- herents bad reached Harrowell’s, und Sully as » vustling about to get them a late tea, while Stumps had been sent off to Tew the bateher, to gev a piece of raw beet tor Tom’s eye, waicu was to be healed off-hand, so that he might suow well in the morning, He was nota bit the worse ex- cept a slight difficulty in his vision, a singingin ~ lis ears, end @ spraived thumb, which he kept in a culd-water baadage, Walle he drauk lots of toa, =
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28 TOM BROWNS SCHOOL DAYS- and listened to the Babel of voices talking and spec- ulating of nothing but the fight, and how Williams would have given in after another fall (which he didn’t in the least believe), and how on earth the Doctor could have got to know of it—such bad luck? He couldn’t help thinking to himself that he was glad ho hadn’t won; he hked it better as at was, aud felt very friendly to the Slogger. And . then poor little Arthur erept in and sat down quietly near hin, and kept looking at him and the raw beef with such plaintive looks thut Tom at Jast burst out laughing. “Don’t make such eyes, young un,” said he, *there’s nothing the matter.” “Oh, but, Tom, are you much hurt? I ean’t bear thinking it was all for me.” “Nota bit of it, don’t flatter yourself. We were sure to have had it out sooner or later.” “Well, but you won’t go ov, will you?” Yow’ll ‘promise Me you won’t go on?” ‘““Can’b tell about that—all depends on the houses. - We’re in the hands of our countrymen, you know. Must fight ror the School-house tag, af 50 be.” However, the lovers of the science were doomed to disappointment this time. Directly after lock- ane-ups one of the night fags knocked at Tom’s aoor, “Brown, Young Brooke wants you in the sixth- form room.” Up went Tom to the summons, and found the magnates silting at their supper. “Well, Brown,” said Young Brooke, nodding to him, “how do you feel?” “Oh, very well, thank you, only I’ve sprained any thumb), [ think.” “Sure to do that in a fight. Well, you hadn’t the worst of it, Tcuuld see, Where did you learn that throw ?” “Down in the country, when I was a boy.” “Hullo! why, what are you now? Weil, never mind, you’re a plucky fellow. Sit down and have some supper.” Tom obeyed, by no means loath. And the fitth- form boy next him filled him a tumbler of bottled beer, and he ate and drank, listening to the pleas- ant tulk, and wondering huwsoon he should be in the fifth, and oue of taat much-envied society. As he got up to leave, Brooke suid, “ You must @hake hands to-morrow mopning; I,shall come aud see that done after first lesson.” And so he did. And Tom and the Slogger shook hands with great satisfaction and mutual respect. And jor the next year or two, whenever fgnofts were being talked of, the small boys who hud been present shook tueir heads Wisely, saying, “Atl but you should have just sven the figuy between Slogger Williams and Tom Brown!” Anil now, boys all, turee words before we quit the subject. Ihave putin this chapter on tight- ing of malice prepense, partly because I wang to “ive yous true picture of what every-day school life was in my time, and nos a kid-glove and gu-ro- fox ling-coat picture; and partly because of the cant and twaddle that’s talked of boxing and fizhtiug with fistsnowadays. Even Thackeray has given in to it; and only a few weeks ago there Was some rampant stuffia thy Limes on the sub- ject, in an article on field sports. Boys will quarre!, and when they quarrel will sometimes fight. Fighting with fists is the uatu- ral avd English way for E:glish boys to setrle their quarrels. What substitute for it is there, or ever was there, amovgst aby Nation under the sun? What would you like to see take its place? Learn to box, theu, as you learn to play cricket and fooiball. Not one of you will be tho worse, but very wuch the better for learning to box well. Should you never have to use itin earnes!, there’s no exercise in the world so good for the temper, and for the muscles of the back and legs. As to fighting, keep out of it if you'ean, by all meaus. When the time comes,if ib ever should, that you have to say “Yes,” or No” toa chal- lenge to figut, say “No” if you cun—ouly take ¢are you muke it clear to yourselves why you say “No.” It’s u proof of the highest courage, if done from true Christian motives. Ii’s quite right and Jjustifable, if done from a simple aversion to phys- deal pain and danger. But don’t say “No” be- cause you fear a licking, and say or thiuk it’s because you fear God, for that’s neither Christian nor honest. And if you do fight, fight it out; and don’t give in while you can stand and see, CHAPTER VI. _¥EVER IN THE SCHOOL. Two years have passed since the events recorded to the last chapter, and the end of the sum- mer half-year is again drawing on. Martin bas ieftand gone ou acruise in the South Pacific in oue of bis unecle’s slips; the old magpie, as disre- putable as ever, his last bequest to Arthur, lives in the Joint study. Arthuris nearly sixteen, and atine head of the twenty, having gone up the school atthe rate of a form ahalf-year. Eastand ‘You: have been much more deliberate in their pro- ress, and are only a littio way up the fifthform, 4reat strapping boys they are, but still thorough boys, filling about the same place in the house thao Young Brooke filled when they were new Loys, and much the same sort of fellows. Con- stant intersourse with Arthur has done much for oto of tiem, especially for Tom; buf much re- tumins yetto be done, if they are to get all the sood out of Bagby which isto ba got there in these times. Arthur is still frail and delicate, with more spirit and body; but, thanks to his in- timacy with them and Martin, has learned to swim, andrun, and play ericket, and has never hurt himself by too much reading, One evening asthey were all sitting down to sup- per in the tifth-form roow, some one started a re- port thatafever had broken out at one of the boarding-houses; “ They say,” he added, “that Thompson is very ill, and that Dr. Robertson has been sent for from Northampton.” * Then we shall all be sent home,” cried anoth- er. “Hurrah! five weeks’ extra holidays and no | fifth-form examination !” « Thope not,” said Tom; “there’ll be no Mary- lebone match then ut the end of the half.” Some thought one thing,some another; many didn’t believe the report; but the next day, Tues- day, Dr. Robertson arrived, and staid allday, and had long conferences with the Doctor. On Wednesday morning, after prayers, the Doc- tor addressed the whole school. There were sey- eral cases of fever in different houses, he said; but Dr. Robertson, after the most careful ex- amination, had assured him it was notinfectious, and thatif proper care were taken, there could be no reasun for stopping the school work at pres- ent. The examiDations were just coming on, and it would be very unadvisable to break up now. However, auy boys who chose to do go were at liberty to write home, and, it their parents wish- edit, toleave atouce. He shguld send the whole school home if the fever spread, The next day Arthur sickened, but there was no other case, Before the end of the week thirty or forty boys had gone, but the rest staid on. There was a general wish to please the Doctor, unda feeling thatit was cowardly to run away. On the Saturday Thompson died, in the bright afternoon, while the ericket-match was gving on as usual on the big-side ground: the Doctor com- ing from his death-bed, passed along the gruvel- Walk at the side of the close, but no one knew Whathad happened till thenextday, Atmorning lectureit began to be rumored, and by afternoon Chapel waskunown generally; andafeelingot se- riousnessand awe at the actual presence of death among them cameoyer the whole school. In all the longyears of his ministry the Doctor perhaps neyer spoke words which sank deeper than some of those iu that day’s sermon. “When I came yesterday from Visiting allbut the very death- bed of him who has been taken from us, and looked around upon allthe familiar objects and scenes Within our own ground, where your common amusements were going on, with your common cheerfulness and activity, I felt there was nothing painful in witnessing that; it did potseem in any way shocking or out of tune with those feelings Which the sightofa dying Christian must besupposed to awaken. The unsuitable- ness in point of natural feeling between scenes of mourning and scenes of liveliness did notatall pre- seutitself. ButI did feelthatif at that moment any of those faults had been brought before me which sometimes occur amongst us; had I heard that any of you kad been guiity of falsehood, cr of drunkenness, or of any other such sin; had I heard frowany quarter the language of profane- ness, or of unkinduess, or of indecenvy; had I heard Or seenany signs of that wretched folly which courts the laugh of fools by affecting not to dread evil and not to care for good, then the un- suitableness of any of these things with thesceneI had just qutted would indeed have been intensely painful. And why ? Not because such things would really have béen worse than at any other time, but because at such a moment the eyes are opened really to know good and eyil, because we then feel whatitis so tolive as that death becomes an infivito blessing, and what it is so to hye ulso, that it were good for us if wo had never been born.” Z a e Tom had gone into chapel in sickening anxiety about Arthur, but he Came out cueered and strengthened by thoso grand words, and walked up alone to their suudy. And when he sat down and looked round, aud saw Arthur’s straw hat and ericket-jacke} hanging on their pegs, and warked all his neat little arrangements, not one of waich had been disturbed, the tears indeed rolled down his cheeks, but they were calin and blessed tears, and he repeated to himself, “‘Yqs, Geordie’s eyes are opened—be knows what it is so to live as that death becomes an infinite bless- ing. ButdoL? O God, can I bearto loso him?” The week passed mournfully away. No more boys sickened, but Arthur was reported worse each day, and his mother arrived earlyin the week. Lom mademany appeals to be allowed to see him, aud several times tried to get up to the sick-room: but the housekeeper was always in the way,and atlast spoke to the Doctor, who kindly but peremptorily forbade him. Thompson was buried on the Tuesday, and the burial service, 80 soothing and grand always, but beyond ail words solemu when read over a boy’s grave to his companions, brought him much com- fort, and many strange new thoughts avd long- ings. He went back to bisregularlife, and played cricket avd bathed as usual: it seemed to him that this wastheright thing to do,anvdthe new thoughts and longings became more brave and healthy for the effort. The crisiscame on Saturday, the day week that Thompson hai died; aud du- ring that long afternoon Tom sat in bis study reuding his Bible, and going every half-hour to the bhousekeeper’s room, expecting euch time to hear a that the gentle and brave little spirit had gone home. But God had work for Arthur to do: tha crisis passed—on Sunday evening he was declared out of danger; on Monday he sent a message to Tom that he was almost well, had changed his Ag and was to be allowed to seo him the next ay. It was evening when the housekeeper sum: moned him to the sick-room. Arthur was lying on the sofa by the open window, through which the rays of the western sun stolo gently, lighting up his white face and golden hair, Tom remem bered a German picture of aa angel which he knew; often hail he thought how transparent and goldeu and spirit-like it was; and ha shuddered t« think how like it Arthur looked, and felt a shock as if his blood had all stopped short, as ho realia- ed how near the other world his friend must have been to look like that, Never till that moment had he felt how hisliftle chum had twined him: self round his heart-strings; and as he stcls gontly across the rooim and knelt down, and put his arm round Arthur’s head on tho pillow, feli ashamed and half angry ab bis own red and brown face, and the bounding sense of health and power which filled every fibre of his budy, and mado every movement of mere living a joy to him. He needn’t have troubled himself; ip was this very strength and power so different from hi own which drew Arthur so to him. ‘ Arthurlaid his thin, white hand, on which the blue veins stood out so plainly, on Tom’; great brown fist, and smiled at him, and then looked out of the window again, as if he cuuldn’t bear to lose @ moment Of the sunset, into the tops of the great feathery elms, round which the rvoks were circling and clanging, returning in flocks from their evening’s foraging-pariies. The elms rustied, the sparrows in the ivy just outside tho window ebirped and fluttered about, quarrelling andmaking it up again; the rooks, young anu old, talked in chorus; and the merry shouts of the boys, and the sweet click of the cricket-bats, camo up cheerily from below, “Dear George,” said Tom. “I’m so glad to be let up to see you af last. I’vo tried hard tu come so often, but they wouldn’t let me before.” “Oh, I know, Tom; Mary has told meevery day about you, and bow she was obliged to make the Doctor speak to youto keepyouaway. I’m very giau you didn’t get up, for you might have caught it,and youcouldn’t stand being ill with all the matches going on. And you’re in the eleven, too, L hear—I’m so glad.” “Yes, aiu’t it jolly 1” said Tom, proudly; “I’m ninthtoo. I made forty at the last pie-mateh, and caught three fellows out. So I was put in above Jones aud Tucker. Tucker’s so savage, for he was head of the twenty-two.” “Well, I think you ought to be higher yet,” said Arthur, who was as jealousfor the renown of Tom in games, as Tom was for his as a scholar. “Never, mind, I don’t care about cricket or any thing now you're getting well, Geordie; and I shouldn’s have hurt, I kvow, if they’d havo let me come up—nothing hurts me, But you'll get about now directly, won’t you? You won’t believe how clean I’ve kept the study. Allyour things are just as you Jefs them; and I feed the old magpie just when you used, though I have to como in ‘trom big-side for him, the old rip. Ho won’t look pleased all [can do, and sticks his head first on one side and then on the other, and blinks at me before he’ll begin to eat, till ’m half inclined to box his ears. And whenever EH st comes 10, you should see him hop off to the window, dot and go one, though Harry wouldn’t touch a feather of him now. Arthur laughed. “Old Gravey has a good me- mory ; he can’t forget the sieges of poor Martin’s den in old times.” He paused a moment, and then wenton: Youcan’t think how ofien T’vo been thinking of old Martin since I’ve been ill; I suppose one’s mind gets restless, and likes to wander off to strange unknown places. I wonder what queer new pets the old boy has got; how ho must be revelling in the thousand new birds, beasts, ant fishes.” Tom ‘felt a pang of jealousy, but kicked it out inamoment. “Fancy him ona South-sea island, with the Cherokees or Patagonians, or some such wild niggers” (Lom’s ethnology and geography wero faulty, but sufficient for his needs); * they’!1 make the old Madman cock medicine-man and tattoo himallover. Perhaps he’s cutting about now all biue,and has a squaw anda wigwam. Ho’llimprove their boomerangs, and be able to throw them too, without having old Thomas sent atter him by the Doctor to take them away.” Arthur laughed at the remembrance of tho boomerang story, bub then looked grave again, and said, “‘ He’ll couvert all the island, I know.” “Yos, if he don’t blow 16 up first.” : “Do you remember, Tom, hOw you and East used to laugh at him and chaff him, becar.se le said he was sure tho rooks all had calling-over or prayers, or sometiing of the sort, when the loek- ing-up bellrang? Well, 1 declare,” said Arthur, looking up seriously into Tom’s Stay eed eyes, ‘Ido think he was right. Since I’ve been lying here, I’ve watched them every night; and do you know, they really do come, and perch all of them just about locking. up time; and then they stop ‘a bit, and one old fellow, or perhaps two or threo in different trees, caw solos, and then off they all ‘go again, fluttering about and cawing anyhow till they roost.’ “T wonder if the old blaekies do talk,” gaia
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——~ aww Yom, lookiag up at them. “ How they must abuse m6 and Hast, and pray for the Doctor for stop- Mag ped singing!” “There! look, look!” cried Arthur, “don’t you ree the old fellow without a tail coming up? Martin used to callhim the ‘clerk.’ He can’t steer himself. You never saw such fun as he isina high wind, wheu he can’t steer himself bome, and gets carried right past the trees, and has to bear up again and again before he can perch.” The locking-up bell began to toll,and the two boys were silent, and listened to it The sound soon carried Tom off to the river and the woods, and he began to go over in his mind the many eocasions on which he had heard that toll coming faintly down tbe breeze, and had to pack his rod in a hurry, and make a run for it, to get in before the gates were shut. He was roused with a start from his memories by Arthur’s voice, gentle and weak from his late illness. “Tom, will you be angry ifI talk to you very seriously ?” “No, dear old boy, not I. But ain’t you faint, Arthur, or il? WhatecanI get vout? Don’t say anything to hurt yourself now—you are very weak; let me come up again.” “No, no, I shan’t hurt myself; I’d sooner speak 0 you now, if you don’t mind. I’ve asked Mary o tell the Doctor that you are with me, so you needn’t go down to calling-over; and I mayn’t have another chance, for I shall most seu have to go home for change of air to get well, and mayn’t come back this half.” “On, do you think you must go away before the end of the half? I’m s0 sorry. It’s more than five weeks yet to the holidays, and all’the fifth- form examination and half the cricket matches tocome yet. And what shall I do all that time alone in our study? Why, Arthur, it will be more than twelve weeks before I see you again. Oh, hang it, I can’t stand that! Besides, who’s to keep me up to working at the examination- books? I shall come out bottom of the form as sure as eggs is eggs.” Tom went rattling on, half in joke, half in earnest, for he wanted to get Arthur out of his serious vein, thinking it would do him harm, In another minute nine o’clock struck, and a gentle tap at the door called them both back to tne world again. They did not answer, however, for a moment, and so the door opened and a lady came in, Carrying a candle. She went straight to the sofa, and took hold of of Arthur’s hand, and then stooped down and kissed him. ““My dearest boy, you feel a little feverish agaip. Why didn’t you have lights? You’ve talked too much, and excited yourself in the dark. “Ob no, mother, you can’t think how well I feel. I shall start with you to-morrow for Devon- shire. But, mother, here’s my friend, here’s Tom Brown—you know him ?” “Yes, indeed, ’ye known him for years,” she said, and held out ber hand to Tum, who was now standing up behind the sofa. This was Arthur’s mother: talland slight and fair, with masses of golden hair drawn buck from the broad white Jorehead, and the calm blue eye meeting his so » deép and open—the eye that he knew so well, for it Was his triend’s over again, and the lovely ten- der mouth that tremblea while he looked. She stood there a woman of thirty-eight, old enough to be his mother, and one whose face showed the lines which must be writien on tue faces of good men’s wives and widows—but he thought he Lad never seen anything so beautiful. He couldn’t help wondering if Arthur’s sisters were like her. Tom held her bund, and looked on straight in her face; he could neither let it go nor speak. “Now, Tom,” said Arthur, laughing, ‘‘ where are your manners? You'll siare my mother out of countenance.” Tom dropped the littie hand with a sigh. “ There, sit aown, botn of you. Here, dearest mother, there’s room here;” and he made a place on the sofa for her. “Lom, you needn’t go; I’m sure you woa’t be called up at first lesson.” Tom felt that he would risk being floored at every iesson for ube rest of his natural school-life, 80 sat down. ‘And now,” said Ar- thur, “ Lhuve realized one of the dearest wishes of my life—to see you two together.” And then he led away the talk to their home in Devonshire, aud the red bright earth, aud the deep green combes, and the peat streams like Cairngorm pebbles, and the wild moor with its high Gloudy Tors for a giant background to the picture—ull Tom gotjealous, and stood up for the Clear chalk streams and the emera!d water mead- ows and great elms and willows of the dear old Royal county, as he gloried to call it. And the mother sat on quiet aud loving, rejoicing in their life. The quarter-to-ten struck, and the bellrang for bed, before they had well begua their tulk, as it seemed. » ‘Then Tom rose with a sigh to go. “*Shall I see you in the moruing, Geordie ?” said he, as he shook his friend’s hand. “Never mind, though; you’ll be back next halt.’ Arthur’s mother got up and walked with him to the door, and there gave him her hand again, and again his eyes met that deep loving look, which was like a spell upon him. Her voice trembled slightly as she said, “‘Good-night—you are one who knows what our Father has promised to the friend of the widow and the fatheriess, May He ae Be you a8 you have dealt wita me aud mine ?” TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS. Tom was quite upset; he mumbled something about owing everything’ good in him to Geordie— looked in her face again, pressed her hand to his lips, and rushed down stairs to his study, where he sat till old Thomas came kicking at the door, to tell him his allowance would be stopped if he didn’t go off to bed. (It would have been stopped anyhow, but that he was a great favorite with the old gentleman, whe loved to come out in the afternoons into the close to Tom’s wicket, and bowl slow twisters to him, and talk of the glories of bygone Surrey —he- roes, with whom he had played former genera- ~, So Tum roused himself, and took up his candle to go to bed; and then for the first time was aware of a beautiful new fishing-rod, with old Eton’s mark on it, and « splendidly bound Bible, which lay on his table, on the title-page of which was written: ‘Tom Brown, from his affectionate re ce abay rg friends, Frances Jane Arthur ; George rthur.’ LIleave you all to guess how he slept, and what he dreamt of. CHAPTER VII. THE next morning, after breakfast, Tom, East, and Gower met as usual, to learn their second les- son together. A proposal of giving up the crib to the others, and having found uo better way (as in- deed none better can ever be found), told them simply how hehad been to see Arthur, who had talked to him upon tle subject, and whut he had said, and forhis part be ha madg up hismind, and wasn’tgoing to use cribs any more: and not being quite sure OF his ground, took the high and pathetic tone, and was proceeding to say, “ how that, hay- ing learned his lessons with them for so many years, it would grieve him much to put an end to the arrangement, and he hoped at any rate thatif they wouldn’t go on with him, they should still be justas good friends, and respect one another’s motives—but—” Here the other boys who had been listening with open eyes and ears, burst in— “Stull and vonsense!” cried Gower. “Here, East, get down the crib and fiud the place.” “Oh, Tommy,}Tommy !” said East, proceeding to do as he was bidden, ‘‘ that it should ever have come to this. I knew Arthur’d be the ruin of you some day, and you of me. And now the time’s come’’—and he made a doleful face. “J don’t know about ruin,” answered Tom; “I know that you and I would have had the sack long ago if it hadn’t beenfor him. And youknow it as wellas L.” “Well, we were in a baddish way before he pe) rT own; but this new crotchét of his is past ajoke. “Let's give it a trial, Harry; come—you know how often he has been right and we wrong.” “Now, don’t yoa two be juwing away about young Square-tocs,” struck in Gower. “He’s no end of asucking wiseacre, I dare say, but we’ve no time to lose, and I’ve gut to be at the fives’- court at half-past nine.” “Tsay, Gower,” said Tom, appealingly, “be a rn and let’s try and get on without the crib, “What! in this through ten lines.” “Tsay, Tom,” cried East, baving hit on a new idea, ‘‘ don’t you remember, when we were in the upper fourth, and old Momus caught me constru- ing off the leaf of a crib which I’d torn out and put in wy book, and which would float out on the oor; he sent me up to be flogged for it?’ “Yes, [remember it very well.” “Well, the Doctor, after he’d flogged me, told me himself that he didn’t fog me for using a translation, but for taking it into lesson, and using is there when I hadn’t learnt a word before ITcamein. He said there was no harm in using a translation to get a clue to hard passages, if you ome all you could first to make them out with- out. “Did he, though ?” said Tom, “then Arthur must be wrong.” “Of course he is.” said Gower, “the little prig! We'll only use the crib when we can’t construe withoutit. Go ahead, East.” “Well, Tom,” said East, seriously, “{when you and I came to school, there were none of these sort of notions. You may be right—I dare say you are. Only what oue has always felt about the masters is that it’s a fair trial of skill and last, between us and them—like a match at foot- ball or a battle. We’re natural enemies 1n school —that’s the fact. We've got to learn so much Latm and Greek and do so many verses, and they’ve got to see that we do it. If we can slip the collar and do so much less without getting caught, that’s One to us. If they cun g't more out of us, or cateh us shirking, th it’s one to them. All’s fair in war but lying. If I run my luck against theirs, aud go into school without looking at my lessons, and don’t get called up, why ain I @ snob or a sneak? I don’t teli the master I’ve learotis. He’s got to find out whether I have or not; what’s he paidior? If he calls me up andl get floored, he makes me write it out iu Greek and English. Very goud; le’s caught me and I don’t grumble. I grant you if I go and snivel to him, and tell him I’ve really tried to learn it, but found it s0 hard without a translation, or say I chorus % Why, we shan’t get have a toothache or any humbug of that kind, |j Tuat’s my school morality; it’s’ I’m a snob, yr oo served me and you too, Tom, for the mutter of that, these five years. And it’s all clear and fair, no mistake aboutit. We understand it, and tuey understand it, and I don’t know what we’re to come to with any other.” Tom looked at him pleased and a little puzzled. He had never heard Bast speak bis mind serious- ly before, and could’t help feeling how complete- ly he had hit his own theory and practive up to that time. “Thank you, old fellow,” said he. “You're a, good old brick to be serious and not put out with me. I said more than J meant, I dare say, ouly you see I know I’m right; whatever you aud ‘ Gower and the rest do, I shall hold on—I must. And as it’s all new and an uphill game, you see, one must hit hardand hold on tight at first.” “Very good,” said East; “hold on and hit away, only don’t hit under the line.” “ButI must bring you over, Harry, or I shan’t be comfortable. Now, Tllallow all you’ve said. We’ve always been honorable enemies with the masters. We found a state of war when we came, and went into it of course. Only don’t you think things are altered a good deal? Idon’t feel as E used to the masters. They seem to me to treat. one le differently.” “Yes, perbaps they do,” said East; “there's a new sel, you see, mostly, who don’t feed sure of themselves yet. They don’t want to fight tit they know the ground.” “T don’t think it’s only that,” said Tom. “And then the Docvwor, he does treat one so openly, and aes a gentleman, and as if one was working with 1m. “Well, so he does,” said East: “he’s a splendid fellow, and when I get into the sixth I shall act accordingly. Only you know he has nothing to do with our lessous now, except examiuing us. £ say, though,’ looking at his watoh, “it’s just the quarter. Come along.” As they walked outthey zot a message, to say “that Arthur was just starting and would like to guy good-bye ;” so they went down to the private entrance of the School-house, and found an open carriage, with Arthur propped up with pillows in it, looking already betver, Tom thought. They jumped up on te the steps to shake hands with him,god Tom mumbled thanks for the pres- ents he had found in his study, and lovked round anxiously for Arthur’s mother, East, who had fallen back into his usual humor, looked quaintly at Arthur, and said— “S80 you’ve been atit again, through that hot- headed convert of yours there. Hv’ been making our lives a burden to us all the morning about using cribs. Ishall get floored to a certainty at second lesson, if I’m calied up.” Arthur blushed and looked down. Tom struck n— “Oh, it’s allright. He’s converted already; he always comes through the mud after us, grumb- ling aud spluttering.” Tue clock struck, and they had to go off to school, wishing Arthur a pleasant holiday ; Tom lingering behind a moment to send his thanks aud love to Arthur’s mother. ‘Tom renewed the discussion after second lesson, and succeeded so fur as to get East to promise to give the new plan a fair trial. Encouraged by hissuccess, in the evening, when they were sitting alone in the large study, where East lived now almost, “ vice Arthur on leave,” af- ter examining the new fishing-rod,which butn pro- nouncedio be the genuine article (“ play enough to throw a midge tied on a single bair against the wind, and strength enough to hold a grampus”), they paturally began talking about Arthur. Tom, who was still bubbling over with last night’s scene and all the thoughts of the last week, and wanting toclinch and fix the whole in his own mind, which he could never do without first going through tue process of belaboring somebody else with it all, suddenly rushed into the subject of Arthur’s illness, and what he said and thought about death.. Eust had given him the desired opening; aftera serio-comic grumble, “that life wasn’t worth having, now they were tied to ayoung beggar, who wasalways ‘raising his stand ard,’ and that he, East was like a prophet’s doukey, who was obliged to struggle on after the dunkey-man who went after the prophet; that bo had none of the pleasure of starting the new crotchets, and didn’t half understand ther, but had to take the kicks and carry the luggage as if he had all the fun ”— he threw his legs up on to the sofa,-and put his hands behind his head, and said— ; “Well, after all, he’s the most wonderful little fellow I ever came across. There ain’t such a meek, humble boy in the school. Hauged it I don’t think now, really, Tom, that he beHeves himself a much worse Jelluw than youorT, and that he don’t think he has more influence in the house than Dot Bowles, who came last quarter and isn’t seen yet. But he turns you,aud mo round his little finger, old_boy—there’s no mis- take about that.” And East nodded at Tome ly. Pow or never,” thought Tom; so shutting his eyes and hardening his dae ne went straigus at it, repeating all that Arthur had said, as near as he could remember it, in the very words, and all he had himself thought. Tho lite seemed to ooze out of it ay he went on, and several times he felt inclined to stop, give itallup, and change the sub-~ ect. But somehow he was borne on, be hada necessity upon him tuspeak it all out, and did so.
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30 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS& At the end he looked at East with some anxiety, and was delighted te see that that young gentle: man was thoughtful and attentive. The fact is, thatin the stage of his inner life at which Tom had lately arrived, his intimacy with, and friend- ship for East could not have lastedif he had not made him aware of, and a sharer in, the thoughts ‘that were beginning to exercise him. Nor indeed could the friendship have lasted ifEasthadshown no sympathy withthese thoughts; so thatit was a great relief to have unbosomed hnmseif, and to have found that his friend could listen, East had remained lying down until Tom finish- ed speaking, as iffearing to interrupt him; he now satat the table, and leant his head on one hand, taking up a pencil with the other, and working little holes with it in the table-cover,, After a bit he looked up, stopped the pencil, and said, “Thank you very much, old fellow; there’s noother boy inthe house would have done it for me but youor Arthur. I[cean see wellenouch,” he went onafter a pause, “‘all the best big fellows Jook on me with suspicion; they think I’m a devil- may-care, reckless youngscamp. So lam—eleven hours out of the twelve—but not the twelfth. ‘Then allof our contemporaries worth knowing Yollow suit, of course; we’re very good friends at games and all that, but notasoulof them but you and Arthur ever tried to break through the rust, and see whether there was anything at the bottom of me; and then the bad ones I won’t stand, and they know that,’ “Don’t you think that’s half fancy, Harry?” “Not a bitof it,’ said Hast bitterly, pegging ‘away with his pencil. ‘TI see it all plain enough, Bless you, you think every body’s as straight- forward and kind-hearted as you are.” “Well, but what’s the reason of lt? There must “be areason. You Can play all the games as well asany one,and sing the best song, and ure the best company in the house, You fancy you’re not liked, Harry. It’s all faney-” “T only wish it was, Tom. I know I could be opular enough with all the bad ones, buo that I won’t haye, and the good ones won’t have me.’’ But East’s powers of remaining serious were exhausted, und in five minutes he was saying the most ridiculous things he could think of, till Mm was almost getting angry again. And so their talk finished for that time, and they tried to learn first lesson; with very poor success, a8 appeared next morning, when they were called up ands narrowly» escaped being floored, whenill-luck, howevez, did not sit heavily on either of their souls. CHAPTER VIII. TOM BROWN’S LAST MATCH. Another two years have passed, and it is again the end of the summer half-year at Rueby; in ¥act, the school has broken up. The fifth form ex- a@wminations were over last week, and upon them have followed the Speeches, and the sixth-form examinations for exhibitions; and they, too, are overnow. The boys have gone to all the winds of heaven, except the town boys and the eleven, and the few enthusiasts besides who have asked ‘leavo to sty in their houses to see the result of the cricket matches. For this year the Welles- ‘burn return match and the Marylebone . match are played at Rugby, to the great delight of the town and neighborhood, and the sorrow of those aspiring young cricketers who have been reckon- ing for the last three months on showing off ab Lora’s ground, The Doctor started for the Lakes yesterday morning, after an interview wita the Captain of the cleven, in the presence of Thomas, at which he arranged in what School the cricket dinners were to be, and all other matters necessary tor the satisfactory carrying out of the festivities; and warned them as to keeping all spirituous quors out of the close, and having the gates closed by nine o’clock, 4 The Wellesburn match was played out with great success yesterday, the School winning by three wickets; aud to-day the great event of the ene eam 8 aed the Marylebone match, is being played. hat &@ matchithas been! The London ¢leven came down by an afternoon train yester- _day,m time to see the end of the Wellesburn match; and as soon as it was over, their leading _men and umpire inspected the ground, criticising itrather unmercilully. The Captain of the School eleven, and one or two others, who had played the Lord’s match before, and knew old Mr. Ais- dabio and several of the Lord’s men, accompanied _ them: while the rest of the eleven looked on from under the Three Trees with admiring eyes, and asked one another the names of the illustri- ous strangers, and recounted how many runs each of them had made in the late matches in the Beil’s Life. They iooked sueh hard-bitten, wiry, whiskered fellows, that their young adversaries felt rather desponding as to the result of the mor- Tow’s match. The ground was at la-t chosen. and two men set to work upon it to water and roll; aud then, there being yet some half-hour of daylight, some one had suggested a dance on the turf. The close was halt full of citizens and their families, and the idea was hailed with enthusi- asm. The cornopean-player was still on the ground in five minutes the eleven and half a dozeu of the Wellesburn and Marleybone men got partners somehow or another, and merry country-dance ‘was going on, to which every one flocked, and mew eouples joined in every minute, till there ' were a hundred of them going down the middle and up again—and the long line of School-build- ings looked gravely down on them,every window glowing with the last rays of the western sun, und the rooks clanged about in the tops of the old elms, greatly excited, and resolved on having their country-dance too, and the great flaz flapped lazily in the gentle western breeze. Altogether if was a sight which would have made glad the heart of our brave old founder, Lawrence Sheriff, if he were half as good a fellow asI take him to have been, It was @ cheerful sight to see; but what made itso valuabloin the sight of the Cap- tain of the Schooleleven was, thathe there saw his young bands shaking off theirshyness and awe of tho Lora’s men as they crossed hands aud capered about on the grass together; for the strangers entered intoitall,and threw away their cigars, and danced and shouted like boys; while old Mr. Aislabie stocd by looking on in his white hat, Jeaning on @ bat, in benevolent enjoyment. “ This hop will be worth thirty runs to us to-morrow, and will be the making of Raggles and Johnson,” thinks the young leader, as he revolves many things in his mind, standing by tho side of Mr. Aislabie, whom he will not leave for a minute, for he teels that the character of the School for courtesy is resting on his shoulders, But when a quarter to nine struck, and he saw old Thomas beginning to fidget about with the keys in bis hand, he thonghs of the Doctor's part- ing monition, and stopped the cornopean at once, notwithstanding the loud-voiced remonstrances from all sides; and th® crowd scattered away from the close, the eleven all going into the School-house, where supper and beds were pro- vided for them by. the Doctor’s orders. Deep had been the consultations at SBpDSE as to the order of going in, who should bowl the first over, whether it would be best to pluy_steady or freely; and the youngest hands declared that they Shuuldn’t be a bit nervous, and praised their opponents as the jolliest fellows in the world, except perhaps their old friends, the Wellesburn men. How far a little good nature from their elders will go with the right sort of boys! The morning had dawned bright and warm, to the intense relief of many an anxious young- ster, up betimes to mark the signs of the weather. The cleven went downin a body before breakfast, for a plunge in the cold bath iu tue corner of the close. Tho ground was in splendid order, and soon after ten o’elock, before spectators had arrived, all was ready, and two of the Lord’s meu took their places at the wicket; the School with usual liberality of young hands, putting their adversaries in first. Old Bailey stepped up to the wicket, and called play, and the match was begun. * * * * * “Oh, well bowled! well bowled, Johnson!” ories the captain, catching up the ball and send- ing it high above the rook-trees, while the third Marylebone man walks away from the wicket, and old Bailey gravely sets up the middle stump again and puts the balls on. “How many 1uns%” Away scamper three boys to the scoring-table, and are back again in a min- ute amongst the rest eleven, who are collected to- gether in a knot between wicket. “Only eighteen runs and three wickets down!” ‘ Huzzah for old Rugby!” sings out. Jack Raggles the long-stop, toughest and burliest of boys, commonly called “Swiper Jack;” and forthwith stands on his head, aud brandishes his legs in the air in tri? umph, till the next boy catches hold of his heels and throws him over on his back, “Steady there, don’t be such an ass, Jack,” says the Captain; “*we baven’t got the best wicket, vats S ey steal more runs than any man in Bn- gland.” And they all find that they have got their work to dv now; the new-comer’s off-hitting is tremen- dous, and his running hke a flash of lightning. He is never in his ground, except when his wicket is down. Nothingin the whole game so trying to boys; he has stolen three byes in the first ten minutes,and Jack Raggies is furious, and begins throwing over savagely to the farther wicket, until hoe is sternly stopped by the Captain. Ibis all that young gentleman can do to keep his team steady, but he knows that everything depends on it, and faeces his work bravely. The score creeps up to fifty, the boy begins to look blank, and the spectators who are now Mustering strong, are very silent. The ball flies off his bat to all parts of the field, and he gives no rest and no Gatches to any one. But ericket 1s fullot glorious chances, and the goddess who presides over it loyes to bring down the most skillful players. Johnson the young bowler is getting wild, and bowls @ ball almost wide to tne off; the batter steps out and cuts if beautifwly to where cover-point is stand- ing very deep, in fact almost off the ground. The ball comes skimming and twisting along about three fect from the ground; he rushes atit, and it sticks somehow or other in the fingers of his left hand, to the utter astonishment of himself and the whole field. Such a catch hasn’t been made in the eloso for years, and the theering is maddening, “ Pretty cricket,” says the Captain, throwing himself on the ground by the deserted wicket with along breath; he feels that a crisis has passed, I wish IT had space to describe the mateh; how the Captuin stumped the next man off a leg- shooter, and bowled small cobs to old Mr. Aislabie, who camo in for the last wicket, How the Lerd’s men were out by half-past twelve o’cloeck for ninety-eight runs. How the Captain of the School eleven went in tirst to give his men pluck, and scored twenty-five in beautiful style; how Rueby was only four behind in the first innings. What a glorious dinner they had in the fourth-form School, 2nd how the cover-poini hitter sang the most topping comic songs, and old Mr. Aislabie made the best speeches that ever were heard, af- terwards. But I haven’t spave, that’s the fact, and so you must fancy it all,aund carry yourselves on to balt-past seven o’clock, when the School are again iv, with five wickets down and only thirty- two runs to make to win. The Marylebone men played carelessly in their second innings, but they. are working like horses now to save the match, There is much healthy, hearty, happy life scat- tered upand down the close; but the group to which I beg to call your especial attention is there, on the slope of the island, which looks to- wards the cricket-ground. It consists of three figures; two are seated on the bench, and one on the ground at their feet. The first, a tall, slight and rather gaunt man, witha bushy eyebrow, and a dry humorous smile, is evidently a clergyman. He is carelessly dressed, and looks rather used up, whichisn’t much to be wondered af, secing that he has just fluished six weeks of examina- tion work; but there ho basks, and spreads him- self out in the evening sun, bent on enjoying life, though he doesn’t quite know what to do with bis arms andlegs. Surely itis our friend the youag Master, whom we havo had glimpses of before, but his face has guined a great deal since we last camo across him. And by his side, in white flannel shirt and trow- sera, straw hat, the Captain’s belt, and the un- tanned yellow ericket-shoes which all the eleven wear, sits a Strapping figure, near six feet high with ruddy tanned face and whiskers, curly brown hair, anda laughing dancingeye. He is leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, and dandling his favorite bat, with which he has made thirty or forty runs to-day, in his strong brown hands, It is Tom Brown, grown into a young man nineteen years old, a praspostor and Captain of the eleven spending his last day asa Rugby boy, and let us hope as much wiser as he is bigger, since we last had the pleasure of coming across bim. And at their feet on the warm dry ground, simi- larly dressed sits Arthur, ‘Turkish fashion, with his bat across his knees. He too is no longera boy, less of a boy, in fact than ‘Tom, if one may judge from tho throughtlulness of his face, which is somewhat paler too than one could wish; but his figure, though slight, is well knit and active, and all his old timidity has disappeared, and is replaced by silent quaint fun, with which his face twinkles all over, as he listens to the broken talk between the other two,in which he joins every now and then. All three are watching the game eagerly, and joining in the cheering which follows every good hit. Itis pleasing to see ube easy friendly foot- ing which the pupils are on with their master, perfectly respectful, yet with uo reserve and nothing forced in their intercourse. Tom has clearly abandoned the old theory of “natural enemies’ in this case at any rate. “Oh! well played—bravo, Jounson!” shouted Arthur, cropping his hat and clapping furiously, and Tom joyped in with a “Bravo, Johnson!” which migit have been heard at the chapel. “TWh! what wasit? f didn’t see,” inquired the master; “they only got one ran, [ thought?’ “No, but such @ ball, theee-quarters length and coming straight for his leg-bail. Nothing but that turn of the wrist could have saved him, and he drew it away to leg for a safe one. Bravo, Jobnson }” “How well they are bowling, though,” said Arthur ; ‘ they don’t mean to be beat, I can see.” “Out! Bailey has given him out—you see, Tom?” ercee Arthur, “ How foolish of them to rua so ard, “Well, if can’t be helped, he has played ver well. Who’s turn is it to go in?” ed os “T don’t know. They’ve got your list in the tent.” * “ Let’s go and see,” said Tom, rising, but at this moment Jack Raggles and two or three more came running to the island moat. “Ov, Brown, may’nt I go in next?” shouts tho Swiper. a “Who’s name is next on tho list?” says the Cap- ° tain, “Winters, and then Arthurs,” answers the boy who carries it; “but there are oniy twenty-six runs to get, and no mime to lose. I heard Mr, Ais- labie say that the stumps must be drawn at a quarter past eight exactly.” “Oh, do let the Swiper go in,” chorus tho boys;” so Tom yields against his better judg- ment. “T dare say now I’ve lost the thatch by this nonsense,” he says, as he sits down again; “ they’ be sure to get Jack’s wicketin threo or tour minu- tes; however, you'll have the chance. sir, of see- ing @ hard hit or two,” adds he smiuzeg, turning 49 the master. “Come, none of your irony Brown,” answers thy master. “I’m beginning to understand the moron ie ea ph What a noble game it js, too “Tsn’tit Butit’s more than a game, institution,” says Tom. “Yes,” says Arthur, “the birthright of British It’s an
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boys, old and young, as habeas corpus and trial by jury are of British men.” “The discipline and reliance on one another which it teaches is 80 valuable, I think,” went on the master, “it ought to be such an unselfish game. It merges the individualin the eleven; he doesn’t play thathe may win, but that his side may.’ : “That’s very true,” said Tom, “ and that’s why football and cricket, now one comes to think of it, are much better games than fives or hare-and- hounds, or any others where the object is to come in first or to win for one’s self, and not that one’s side may win.” **And then the Captain of the eleven!” said the master, “what a postis bis in our School-world! almostas hard as the Doctor’s; requiring skill and gentleness and firmness, and [know not what other rare qualities.” . “Which don’t he may wish he may get?” said Tom, laughing; “ at any rate he hasn’t got them yet, or he wouldn’t bave been such a flat to-night as to let Jack Raggles go in, out of his turn, “Ah! the Doctor never would have done that,” said Arthur demurely. “Tom,you’ve agreat deal to learn yet in the art of ruling.” “Well, I wish you’d tell the Doctor so, then, and get him to let me stop tilll’m twenty. I don’t want to leave, I’m sure.” . “What a sightic is.” broke in the master, “ the Doctor as aruler! Perhaps ours is the only little eorver in the British Empire whichis thoroughly, wisely, and strongly ruled just now. I’m more and more thankful every day of my life that I came here to be under bim.” “So am I, I’m sure,” said Tom; “‘and more and more sorry that I’ve got to leave.” “Every place and thing one sees here reminds one of some wise act of his,” went on the master. “This island now—you remember the time, Brown, when it was laid out in small gardens, and cul- i frost-bitten fags in February and 2 course I do,” said Tom; “didn’t I hate pending two hours in the afternoons grubbing in the tough dirt with the stump of a fives’-bat? But turf-cart was good fun enough,” “T dare say it was, but it was alwaysleading to fights with the townspeople; and thén the steal- ing flowers out ot all the gardens in Rugby for the Easter show was abominable.” “Well, so it was,” said Tom, looking down, “ but wetags couldn’t heip ourselyes. But what has that to do with the Doctor’s raling?”’ “A great deal, I think,” said the master ;‘‘ what brought island-fagging to an end?” “Why, the Easter Speeches were put off till Midsummer,” said Tom, “and the sixth had gym- nastic poles put up here.” “Well, and who ehanged the time of the Speeches, and put the idea of gympastic poles into the heads of their worships the sixth form?’ said the master. ~The Doctor, I suppose,” said Tom. ¢hought of that.” “Of course you didn’t,” said the master, “or else, fag as you Were, yo would have shouted with the whole school against putting down old customs. And vhat’s the way that all the Doctor’s reforms have been carried out when he bas been left to himself—quietly and naturally, putting a good thing in the place of a bad, and letting the bad die out; po wavering and no hurry—the best thing that could be done for the time being, and patience for the rest. “Just LTom’s own way,” chimed in Arthur. nudging Tom with his elbow, ‘driving a nail where it will go;” to which allusion Tom answer- ed by asly kick, “ Wxactly so,” said the master, innocent of the allusion and by-play. ; : Meantime Jack Raggles, with his sleeves tucked up above his great brown elbow, scorning pads and gloves, has presented himself at the wicket; and, having run one for a forward drive of John- g00’Ss, 18 about to receive his first ball. There are only twenty-four runs to make, and four wickets to go down; a winning match if they play decent- ly steady. ‘The ballis a very swift one, and rises fast, catching Jack on the outside of the thigh, and boundiug away as if from india-rubber, while they run too fora leg-bye amidst great applause, and shouts from Jack’s many admirers. The next ball is a beautifully-pitched ball for the outer stump, which the reckless and unfeeling Jack eatehes hold of, and hits right round to leg for five, while the applause becomes deafening; only seventeen runs to get four wickets—the game is all but ours! It is over now, and Jack walks swaggering about his wicket, with bis bat over his shoulder, _ while Mr. Aislabie holds a short parley with his men. Then the cover-point hitter, that cunning man, £0es onto bowl slow twisters. Jack waves hand triumphantly towards the tent, as much , to say, “Seeit Ldon’t finish it all off now in ec hits!” Alas, my son Jack! the enemy is too old for thee. Tne first bailof the over Jack steps outavd meets, swiping with ull his force. If he had only allowed for tho twist! but he hasn’t, and so the ball goes spinning up straight in the air, as if it would never come dowuagain. Away runs Jack, shouting and trusting to the chapter of accidents, hut the bowler runs steadily under it, judging every apin, and calling out “T havo it,” catches it, and playfully pitches 1t on to the buck of the “T never —. ; TOM BROWWS SCHOOL DAYS. stalwart Jack, who is departing with a rueful countenance. “T knew how it would be,” says Tom, rising. “Come along; the game's getting very serious.” So they leave the island and go to the tent, and after deep consultation Arthur is sent in, and goes off to the wicket witha last exhortation from Tom to play steady and keep bis bat straight. To the suggestions that Winter is the best bat left Tom only replies, ‘‘ Arthur is the steadiest, and Johnson will make the runs if the wicket is only kept up.” “T am surprised to see Arthur in the eleven,” said the master, as they stood together 1n front of the dense crowd, which was now closing in round the ground. “Well, I’m not quite sure that he ought to be in for his play,’ said Tom, *‘but I could’nt help put- ting himip. It willdohimsomueh good, and you can’t think what I owe him.” The master smiled. Tue clock strikes eight, and the whole field becomes fevered with excitement. Arthur, after two narrow escapes, scores one; and Jobnson gets the ball, The bowling and fielding are superb, and Johnson’s datting worthy the occa- sion. He makes here a two, and there a one, Managing to keep the ball to himself, and Arthur backs up and runs verfectly; only eleven runs to make now, and the crowd scarcely breathe. At last Arthur gets tho ballagain, and actually drives it forward for two, and feels prouder than when he got the three best prizes, at hearing Tom’s shout of joy, “Well played, well played, young un! But the next ball is too much for a young kand, and his bails fly differené ways. Nine runs to make, and two wickets to go down—it is too much for human nerves. . Before Winter can get in, the omnibus which is to take the Lord’s men to the train pulls up at the side of the close, and Mr. Aislabie and Tom éonsult, and give out that the stumps will be drawn after the nextover. And so ends the great match, Winter.and Johnson carry out their bats and,it being a one day’s match, the Lord’s men are declared the winners, they haying scored the most in the first innings. ; But such a defeat is a victory ; so think Tom and all the School eleven, as they accompany their conquerors to Ube omnibus, and send them off with three ringing cheers, after Mr. Aislabie has shaken hands all round, saying to Tom, “I must comnpliment you, sir, on your eleven, and I hope we shall have you for a member if you come up to to) n.” As Tom and tho rest of the eleven were turn- ing back into the close, and every body was begin- ning to ery out for another country-dance, en- couraged by the success of the night before, the young master, who was just leaving the close, stopped him and asked him to come up to tea at half-past eight, adding, I won’t keep you more than half an hour, and ask Arthur to come up too.” “Tl come up with you diree ly, if you'll let me,” said Tom, “for I feel rather melancholy, and not quite up to the country-dance and supper with the rest,” “Do by all means,” said the master; “I’ll wait here for you.” So Tom went off to get his boots and things from the tent,to tell Arthur of the invitation, and to syeak to his second in command about stopping .-e dancing and shutting up the close as soon as it grew dusk, Arthur promised to fol- low as soon as he had had a dance. So Tom handed bis things over to the man in charge of the tent, and walked quietly away to the gate where the master was wailing, and the two took their way together up the Hillmorton road. After some talk on the matter, and other indif- ferent subjects, the conversation came naturally back to Toni’s approaching departure, over which he began again to mako his moan. “Well, we all shall miss you quite as much as you will miss us,” said the master. ‘You are the Nestor of the School now, are you not?” “Yes, ever since Kast left,” answered Tom, “ By-the-by, have you heard from him?” “Yes, I had & letter in February, just before he started for India to join his regiment.” “ Ho will make a capital officer.” «Ay, won't he!” said Tom, brightening; “no fellow could handle boys better, and I suppose soldiers are very like boys. And he’ll uever tell them to go where he won’t go himsel!. No mis-. take about that—a braver fellow never walked.” “His year in the sixth will have taught him a good deal that will be useful to him now.” “So it will,’ said Tom, staring into the fire- “Poor dear Harry,’ he went on, “how weil re- member tho duy Wo were put oxi of the twenty- How he rose to the situation, and burnt his cigar. cases, and gaye away his pistols, and pondered on tho constitutional authority of the sixth, and bis new duties to the Doctor, and the fifth form, and the fags. Ay, and no fellow ever acted up tothem beter, though he was always @ people’s man—fur the fags, and against constituted authorities. He couldn’t help that, you know. ’m.sure the Doctor must haye liked him?” said Tom, looking up in- quiringly. ; “The Doctor sees the good in every one, and ap- preciates it,” said the master, dogmatically ; ‘but [hope Hast will get a good Colonel. «He won’t do if he can’t respect those above him. How long it took him, even here, to learn the lesson of okey ing,* : CR, 31 “Well, I_wish I were alongside of him,’ said Tom. “IfTI can’t be at Rugby, I want to be as work in the world, and not dawdlmg away three years at Oxford.” ““What do you. mean by ‘at workin the world ? ” said the master, pausmg, with his lips close to fhe saucertful of tea, and peering at Tom over it. “Well, I mean real work; one’s profession; whatever one will have really to do, and make one’s living by. I want to be doing some real good, feeling that IT am not only a play in the world,” answered Tom, rather puzzled to find out himself what he really did mean. “You are mixing up two very different things in your head, I think, Brown,” said the master, putting down the empty saucer, ‘‘and you ought to get clear about them. ‘You talk of ‘ working to get your living,’ and ‘doing some real good in the world,’ in the same breath. Now, you may be getling a very good living in a profession, and yet doing no good at all in the world, but quite the contrary, at the same time. Keep the latter be- fore you as your one object, and you willbe right, whether you make a living or not; but if you dwell on the other, you’ll very likely drop into mere money-making, and let the world take care of itself for good or evil. Don’s bé m a hurry about tinding your work in the world for yourself; you are not old enough to judge for yourself yet, but just look about you in the placo youfind your- self in, and try to make things a little better and hovester there. You'll find plenty to keep your hand in at Oxford, or wherever else you go. And don’t be led away to think this part of the world important, and that unimportant. Every corner ot the world isimportant. No man koows whether this part of the world is most so, but every man may do some honest work in his own corner.” And then the good man went on to talk wisely to Tom of the sort of work which he might take up as an undergraduate; and warned him cf the pre- valent University_sins, and explained to him the many and great differences between University and School life; till the twilight changed into darkness, and they heard the truant servants stealing in by the bauek entrance, . “YT wonder where Arthur can be,” said Tom at last, looking at his patch ; “way, it’s nearly hall- past nine already.” “Oh, he is comfortably at supper with the eleven, forgetful of his oldest friends,’’ said the master. ‘Nothing has given me greater pleas- ure,” ho wené on, ‘‘than your friendship for jim; it has been the making of you both.” “Of me, atany rate,” answered Tom: “I sheula never have been here now but for bim, It was. the luckiest chavce in the world that sent him to | Rugby, and made him my chum.” “Why do you talk of lucky chances?” sai(i the master; “I don’t know that there are any such things in the world ;at any rate there was neither luck nor chance in that matter.” Tom looked at him inquiringly, and he went on. Do you remember when the Doctor lectured you and East at the end of one half-year, when you werein the shell,and had been getting into all sorts of scrapes?” “Yes, well enough,” said Tom; ‘it was the half-year before Arthur came.” “Exactly so,” answered the master. ‘ Now, I was with hima few minvtes afterwards, and he Wasiu great distress about you two. Ad, after somo talk, we both agreed that you in particular wauted some object in the School beyond games and misebief; for it was quite clear that you never would make the regular school-work your first object. And so the Doctor, at the beginning oft the next hilf-year, looked out the bestot the new boys, and separated you and Fast, and put the young boy into your study, in the hope that when you had somebody to lean on you, you would begin to stand a little steadier your- self, and get manlinessand thoughtfulness. An& Teun assure you he has watched the experiment ever since with great satistaction. An] not one of you boys will ever know the anxiety you have given him, or the care with which he has watched over every step in your school lives.” Up to this time, Tom had never wholly given in to, or understood the Doctor. At first he had thoroughly feared him. Fursome years, as I have tried to show,he had learned to regard him and love and respect, and to think him avery great and wise and good man. But, as regarded his own position in the School, of whicli he was no little proud, Tom had no idea of. giving any one credit for it but himself; and, truth to tell, was a sed self-conceited young gentleman on the sub- ject. After a half concession of his previous short- comings, and sorrowful adieus to bis tutor, from whom he receivedtwo beautitully bound volumes ofthe Doctor’s sermons, as a parting present, he marched down to the School-house, a hero worshipper who would have satisfied the soul of Thomas Carlyle himself, x There he found tue eleven at high jinks after supper, Jack Raggles shouting comic songs, and performing feats of Strength; and was greeted by achorus of mingled remoustrance at Ais de, sertion, andjvy at hisreappearance. An. falling in with the humor of the evening, Was soon ag great @ boy as all the rest; anlatten o'clock wag chaired round the quadrangle, on one of the hall benches borne aloft by the cleven, shouting in ‘chorus, * For he’s a jolly good fellow,” vhile old Thomas, in a melting mood, and the other Sehou! house servants, stood looking on,
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Inte —_—— a And the next morning after breakfast he fquared up all the cricketing accounts, went round to his tradesmen and other acquaintances and said his hearty good byes; and by twelve o’elock was in the train, and away for London, 10 longer a school boy, and divided in his thoughts between hero-worship, honest regrets over the long stage of his life which was now slipping out of sight behind him, and hopes and resolves ‘for the next stage, upon whieh he was entering with all the confidence of a young traveller, CHAPTER IX. FINIS. In the summer of 1842, our hero stopped once again at the well-known station; and, leaving his bag.and fishing-rod with a porter, Walked slowly and sadly up towards the town. 10 was now July. He had rushed away from Oxford ihe moment the term was over, for a fishing rawtle in Scotland with two college friends, and had veen for three weeks ving on oat-cake, mnutton- hams, and whiakv,1n the wildest parts of Sxye. They had descended one sultry evening on the little inn at Kyle Rsea terry, and while fom and another of tip party put the tackle together and began exploring the stream for a sea-trout for supper, the third strolled into the house to arrange tor their entertainment. Pre- sently, he came out ina loose blouse and slippers, a short pipe in his mouth, aad an old newspaper in his haud, and threw himself on the heathery scrub which met the shingle, within easy bail of the fishermen. Tuere he lay, the picture of free- und-easy, loafing, hand-to-moutu young England, “improving his mind,” as le shouted to tuem, by the perusal of the fortnigut-old weekly ‘paper, soiled with the marks of toduy-glasses and tobvac- so-ashes, the legacy of the last traveller, which , rad hunted outfrom the kitchen of the little hos’-lry, and being a youta of a communicative turn of mind, began imparting the contentsto the fishermen us he went ou. *Whuata bother they are making about these wretchet Corn-laws! Here’s three or four columns full of nothing but sliding-scales and fixed duties.—Hang this tobacco, it’s always go- ing out!—Ah, here’s something better—a splen- did inutch between Kent and England, Brown! Kent winuing by three wickets. Felix fifty-six ruus witubut a chances, and not out!” ‘fom, iutent ou a fish which has risen at him twice, aus donly with a grunt. “Anything about the Goodwood?” called out the third man. “‘Rory-o-More drawn. Butterfly colt amiss,” shouted the student. “Just my luck,” grumbied the inquirer, jerking his flies off tue water, and throwing again with a beavy sullen splash, aud frightening Tom's fish. “Tsay, can’t you throw lighter over there? we nin’t fishing for grampuses,” shouted Tom across the stream. “Hullo, Brown! here’s something fur you,” ealled out che reading nan the next moment. “Why, your old imaster, Arnold of Rugby, is dead.” Tom’s hand stopp:d half-way in his cast, and his line and flies weut all ag i roung® and round bis rod; you might have knocked him over with a feather. Neitlier of Nis eompanions took any notice of him, luckily; anit with a violent effort he’ set to work mechaniéally to diseutansle his line. He felt completely carried off his moral and intellectual legs, as if he had joss lis stand- ing-point in the invisible-world, Besides which the deep loving loyalty which he felt fur his old leader made the shock intensely painful. It was the great wrench of his life, the first gap which the angel Death hud made in His cirele, aud he folt numbed, and beaten down, and spiritless, Well, well! I-believe it was good for him and for many others in like case; who bad to learn by that losa that the soul of man cannot stand of lean upon any humin prop, however strong and wise aud good; bay that he upon whom alone it Gan staud and iva; will knock away all such props im his Own Wise and mereiful way, until there is no ground or stay left but Himself, the Rock of Ages, upon Whom alone a sure founda- tion for every soul of man eee f As he wearily jabored apis line, the thought struck him, “‘Itimay be false, a mere newspaper lie,” and ‘he strode up to the rectunbent smoker, ‘Let me look at the paper,” said he. “Nothing elsoin it,” answered the othér, hand- ing itto him lstlessly. “Hullo, Brown! whut’s the matter, old fellow—ain’t you well?” “Where is it?” said Tom, tarning over the leaves, his hands trembling, and his eyes swim- ay s0 that he could not read. “What? Wuatare aoe looking for?”’ said his friend, jumping up and looking over his shoulder. ““Thac-avoub Aruold,” said Tom. “Oh, here,” said the other, putting his finger on the paragraph. Tom read it over and over again; there could be no mistake of identity, tuough the account was sbort enough, “Thank you,” said he at last, dropping the paper, “Ishallgo for a waik; don’t you and Her- bert Waitsupper for me.” And away he strode, oR oyer the moor et the back of the house, to be alone, and muster his grictif possible. His friend looked alter him, sympathising and wondering, and, Kaveking the ashes out of his pize, walked over to Herbert. Afcer a short par- y, they walked together up to the house. TOM BROWN'’S SCHOOL DAYS. “T’m afraid that confounded newspaper has spoiled Brown’s fun for this trip.” “How odd that he should beso fond of his old master.” said Herbert. Yet they also were both public-school men. The two, however, notwithstanding Tom’s pro- hibition, waited supper for him, and had every- thing ready when ne came back some half an hour afterwards. But he could not join in their cheerful talk, aud the purty was soon silent, not- withstanding the efforts of all three. One tbing only had Tom resolved, and that was, that he coulan’t stay in Scotiand any longer; he felt an irresistible louging to get to Rusby, and, then home, and svon broke it tv the others, who had too much tact to oppose. So by daylight the next morning he was march- ing through Ross-suire, wnd in the evening bit the Culedouiau canal, took the next steamer, and travelled as fast a: boat and railroad would carry him to the Rugby station. Ashe walked up to the town, he felt shy and afraid of being secu, and took the back streets; why, he didn’ know, but he followed his instinct. At the S:hool-gates ho made a dead pause; there Wus not a soul in the quadrangle—all was jonely, and sileut,and sad. So with another effort he strode through the quadrangle, and into’ the School-house offices. He found the little matron in her room in‘deep mourning; shook her hand, tried to talk, and moved nervously about; she was evidently think- ing of the samo sutject us he, vub he couldu’t begin talking. **Where suall I find Thomas?” said he at last gettmg desperate. “Tn the servants’ hall, L think sir, But won’t you take avythius?” said the matron looking rather disappointed. “No thank you,” said he, and strode off again to tiud the old Verger, who was sitting in his litcle den as of old, puzzling over hieroglyphics. Ho looked up through his spectacles, as Tom seiz:d his hand and wrung it. “Aul you’ye “heard ali about it sir, I see,” said he. Tom nodded and then sat down on the shoe- boaru, while the old man told his tale, aud wiped his spvctacles, and fairiy flowed over witn quaint, bomely, honest sorrow. By the time be had done, Tom felt much batter. “Wuere 15 he buried, Thomas?” satd he at last. “Under the altar in tue chapel, su,” answered Toomas. “ You'd like to have the key I dare say.” “Tnank you. Tuomas—Yes, [should very much.’ Aud the old inao funbled among bis buavca, and then got up, as though he would go with bim; but aiter a few steps stopped short, ant said, “Perbaps you'd like to av by yourself, sir?” Tom nodded, ana the bunch of keys were hand- ed to him, with wn injunction to be sure and lock tho door atter bin, aud bring them back before eins o’clock. He walked quickly through the quadrangle and out into the close, Tue louging which had beeu upon him and driven him thus far, like the gad- flyin the Greek legends, giving him no re3t 1. mind or loay, svemed ult of a sudden not to be satisfied, bus to shrivel up, and pall. ‘‘Way should I gv ou? Ti’s uo use,” he thougat, and threw himself acfull leng:h on the turf, aud look- ed vaguely and listened at all the well-<nown oO jects. There were a few of tie town-boys play- ing Cricket, their wicket pitched on the best piece in the middle of tue hig-side ground, a sia abouc equal to sucrilege in the eyes of a captain of tue elevén. He wis very uearly getting up to go and send thew off “Pshaw! they won't remember me. Tney’vo more rigut taere than I,” be wut- tered. Andihe thougaf that his sceptve had de- parted, aud lis mark was wearing out, came Lome to him for the first time, and bitterly enough. He was lying On the yery spot where the fizhts came off; where he himself had tongnt six years ago his first and last battle. He conjured up the seene till he could aimust hear the shouts of the ring, and Eisi’s whisper in his ear; and looking across the Gloss to tue Doctor’s private door, halt expected to see it open, and the tall figure in eap aud gown come siridiag under the elm-trees to- wards him. No, no! tuat sight could never be seen again. Tuere Was uo flay fying on the round tower; the Schooluouse Windivws were all shuttered up: and when the fl ¢ weut up again, and the shutters came down,it would be tu welcome a stranger. All thas was left on earth of him whom he had honored, was lying cold and still under the chapel floor. He would go in aud see the place once more, ®ud then leave if onse for all. New mon and new metnods mighs do tor other peopls: let those who would, worship the rising star; ho at}, least would be Jaituful to the sua watch nad set. And so be gotup, und Walked tu the chapel uoor upd uslvcked it, fancying himself the only mour- ueciiall ths broad land, and feeding On his owa s@ fish surrow,. He passed through the vestibule, ind then paused for a momeutto glance over the empty benches. His heart was still proud and high, und he walked up to the seat wineu he had last oceu- pied as @ sixth-formn boy, aud sat himsclf duwn iuere 10 Collect ls Lhouguts. And, truth to teil, tugy needed collecting and settiug in order not a litle. The momories of eigat Years were all Guncing turouga his brain, abwcaurrylig him about whither they would; whic beneaib thew ail, lis hear, was throoving with the dull sense of a loss that could naver be wade uptohim. Therays of the evening sun came rol- emnly through the painted windows above his head, and fellin gorgeous colors on the. opposite wall, and the perfect stillness soothed his. spirit by little and little. And he turned tothe pulpit, and looked at it, and then, leaning forward with his head on his hands, groaned Dnae ‘Tf he could only have seen the Doctor again for onetive minutes; have tuld him all that was 10 Wis heart, what he owed to him, how he loved nud veyeren- eed him, avd would, by God’s help, follow his steps ia lif) and death, he could haye borne it all Without amurmar, But that he should have gone awuy furever without knowing it all, was too much to bear.”—"But am I sure that he does not know it all?’—the thought made him start—‘May he not even now be near me, in this very chapel? If he be,um I sorrowing as he would have me sorrow—as I suould wish to have sorrowel when Isnail meet bim again?” He raised Limself up and locked round; and af ter a minuts rose and walked humbly down to tho lowest bench, and sat down on the very seat which he had occupied on his first Sunday at Rug- by. And then the old memories rushed back again, but softened and subdued, and soothing him as he let himself bs carried away by them. Aud he looked at the great puinted window above the altar, and remembered how when a little boy ne used Lo try not toleok through it at ihe elm- trees and the rocks, before the painivd glass caine —aud the subscription for ths painted glass, and Lhe letter Lhe wrote home for money to uive to it. Aud tiere, down below, was the very uame of the boy who sat on his rigut hand on tavt first day, scratched rudely in the oak panelling. Aud then came the thought of ull his old. scuoolfellows; audform after turm of bors, 10- b.er aud braver and purer than he, rose up and seemed to rebuke him. Could he not think of thew, and what they had féit and were feec:ing, they who had honored and loved frou the firss ibe mun whom he had taken years to know aud low Could he net think of those yet dearer to bi who were gone, who bore his name aud shared lis. blood, wud who were now withouta husband or a father? Taen the grief which he began to share wilh oLhers became geutls and holy, and he rose up Ouce wore, and walked up the steps to the altar; and, while the tears flowed freely down his. cneeks, knelt down humbly and hopetully, to lay down there his share of a burden wich had. proved itself teo heavy for him to bear in Lis own streugth, nv Here let us. leaye hin—where befter could wo leave him than at the altar, betore which be lua first ¢ uguc a glimpse of tae glory of bis birt rigut, aud felt the drawing of the bond wiicu hiuks all living souls togeiherin cone brotherhovd. —at tue grave, bsveatu the altar, of him woo vad opened his eyes to see that glory, ana sultenes uis heart tillig could feel that boud? Andlet Usnot be hard on biw, if at that mo- ment his sonlisfallor of the tomb and bins wue lies there, taun of the altar and Him of whom 16 speaks. Savh stages have to be gone througa, I boheve, by all young anit braye souls Why lust. win their way, Unrough hero-worsvip, [to Lue wor ship of Him who is the King and Lord of herocs. For it is only through our mysierious buman relationships, through the love and \enderness and purity of mothers aud sisters and Wives, through Lie strength and courage and Wisdom of fachers aud brothers and teachers, thut we can cowie to the knowledze of Him, in whomalone the love and the tenderness, and the: purity, and the strength, and the courage, and the wisdom of alb these dwell forever and ever in perfect fullness. THE END. en aT —————————— Orr von