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rived for the completion of all his plans. Red-letter days were no longer to be claimed as holidays; the three half-school days were lengthened into whole school-days: the time formerly devoted to play was to be occupied in perfecting the drilling; football was abolished as dangerous, and the converting of little boys into "horses" was interdicted, and pronounced to be “cruelty to animals.” The glories of “governors' day,” and the fun of driving carriages and drinking porter at the Red Cow were annihilated, and the singing of Dulce domum was as rigidly forbidden among the Rotherwickians as the ranze des vaches among the home-loving Swiss—and for the same reasons.
The boys began to grumble and complain in private, and some assured their friends that they would “stand it no longer.” Concios at length began to be held of the seniors, the results of which were canvassed in small groups and meetings of the juniors. The ground of complaint was that their privileges were interfered with, and the old customs done away. “It was their privilege to have three half-holidays in the week; it was their privilege to have a whole holiday on saints’days; it had been the custom of the school to attend governors' meetings, drive carriages, and drink porter at the Red Cow; to kick each other's shins at foot-ball, fog little boys in a team, and sing Dulce domum when and wherever they pleased." It was resolved, nem. con., to maintain their privileges at any risk.
An opportunity soon presented itself for carrying this resolution into effect. The 5th of November was near at hand, and on that day it had been their privilege to have a whole holiday, and a large bonfire in which to immolate a guy.
Mr. Innovate had given public notice that this custom was to be honoured in its breach ;—that they were to attend chapel twice, instead of having a holiday, and that no bonfires were to be allowed.
A concio was called and held, and every boy pledged himself to maintain the privileges against the laws. They agreed not to go to chapel at all, to get up early, collect the materials, and light up a much larger bonfire than had ever been seen within the walls. A subscription was raised to purchase combustibles, and the plan of proceedings settled.
On the morning of the 5th Mr. Innovate was deeply engaged in his study, until the bell rang for chapel, in finishing a very interesting discourse, which he intended delivering to his pupils, on the iniquitousness of the attempt of Mr. Fawkes and the conspirators to blow up such a respectable assembly as the house of parliament (I beg pardon for digressing—but they are “ blown up” every day now by every body, and no notice taken of it! tempora mutantur).
With this laboured tirade in his pocket he proceeded to chapel, and as soon as he was in the vestry putting on his surplice the chapel-door was locked by our hero, Augustus, who had secreted himself behind it for that purpose.
When Mr. Innovate entered the reading-desk he was to surprised to find no one in chapel but“ dearly beloved Roger,” the clerk. He waited for ten minutes, expecting the boys to come in, and meditating in his mind a suitable punishment for so unjustifiable a delay. He then desired the clerk to go and tell the præpositi to bring the boys in immediately. Roger proceeded to the door, and to his great surprise found that, like Sterne's starling, “ he could not get out.” This discovery he communicated to the
master, who rushed to ascertain the correctness of it. Repeated trials and a glimpse of the bolt convinced him of the fact-ibat he, the head-master of Rotherwick, was locked up against his will, and against all statutes in that case made and provided. He walked round and round the chapel, and examined the windows to find an exit, but without success, as they were very high above the ground to insure the boys not looking out, and firmly guarded by iron wire to prevent the cricket-balls from coming in.
He puzzled himself for some time to account for his being confined. It never once occurred to him that it was done purposely, and by one of his boys. They did not dare to do such a thing," he assured the clerk, when he suggested to him the possibility of such an outrage; “they were under excellent control.” At this instant, before the words were out of his lips, a loud shout rent the air, and immense volumes of smoke were seen rolling along by the chapel-windows..
“Why they've lit up already!” said Roger. “ Lit up, sirrah! What do you mean?” “Why, burning Guy afore his time. They never used to light up afore dark afore this. It's a jolly big bonfire, however.”
“A bonfire ?" said Mr. Innovate, « impossible! I forbade it, sirrah !"
“Well, sir, all as I can say is,” replied Roger, " that they have been getting in tar-barrels, oil-caskeses, and sugar-hogsheads, and such other rumbusticles, all the morning."
“Impossible! sirrah–I tell you it's impossible—I forbade it."
“If you'd only condescend to clime up to the belfry, you'll see if I have not prophesied right,” said Roger, leading the way.
“I will, sirrah! but stop, before we proceed, allow me to inform you that to use the word prophesy' of any event that has actually taken place is incorrect in the extreme.”
After this very seasonable exposition of his accuracy in the use of words, the master took off his surplice, and climbed up into the belfry, where he saw sufficient to convince him that Roger's prophecy was ful6lled.
In the centre of the green was an enormous pile of fame, which was just getting to its height, and over the centre of it-oh, horror! -was a fac-simile of himself, dressed in his academics, suspended by the neck from a gallows. Around it were dancing four or five hundred little urchins, who looked, through the smoke, like a lot of Indians performing their orgies round a war-fire, or a nation of cannibals anticipating a delectable slice of roasted enemy.
All sorts of shouts, shrieks, and cries were heard at intervals; but when the fame caught the Guy, and his gown, which had been saturated with turpentine, and burst out into a blaze, one loud hurrah! “ held out," as the music people say, to a great length, showed the delight and satisfaction of the spectators.
“ Can I get out upon the roof, Roger ?" said Mr. Innovate. “I must put an immediate stop to this. I will harangue them on their impropriety first, and flog them all afterwards."
Roger led the way through a trap to the tower roof, and as soon as Mr. Innovate had succeeded in following his leader, he commenced shouting to the different præpositi by name, and desiring them to put out the bonfire and come to him immediately.
Whether the wind set the wrong way, or the crackling of the flames drowned his voice, he was not certain, but he was certain of this, that no attention whatever was paid to it. That he was seen he was convinced, for the whole crowd shirked off to the further side of the fire and dispersed themselves about in all directions, leaving the guy to his fate.
“ If you go down now, sir, you'll find the door unlocked, I prophesy," said Roger.
“ Prophesy again! but why do you think so ?”
“Becos while you was a hölloring I see one of the boys cut across to the cloisters, and turn down towards the chapel-door-he know'd you was safe enough up here and took the opportunity to unlock the door."
In this, his second prophecy, Roger was quite right, and Mr. Innovate proceeded in haste to the green, which he found deserted, and arrived at the fire just in time to see the gallows which had supported his representative fall into the midst of the Aames.
THE HUNTERS' RETURN; AND A LITTLE LOVE-MAKING.*
BY THE OLD FOREST RANGER.
“ She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd :
LOVE-MAKING! Love-making! Ha! ha! Fair reader, does it not make thee laugh to see the weatherbeaten, sun-dried Old Forester thus deliberately announcing that he is about to attempt a love scene-to dash headlong into a description of that all-powerful passion which our quaint friend, Burton, describes, as "a fire in a fire; the quintessence of fire"-backing his assertion by the following fearful description of an unfortunate youth, who died for love, and was dissected in the presence of Empedocles, the philosopher : “ His heart was combust, his liver smoakie, his lungs dried up, insomuch that he verily believed his soul was either sod or rosted, through the vehemency of love's fire.” There, young ladies!—there's a pretty fiery subject for an old fellow of three score and ten to handle!“ He'll burn his fingers," you will say. That, between you and ourselves, we think very probable; but, having followed our young friend, Charles, so far through the dangers of the wilderness, we are loath to desert him, now that he is in a fair way of having his soul either“ sod or rosted,” by the bright eyes of his pretty cousin.
we must stand by him, even at the risk of burning our fingers. But, before we reintroduce the dangerous little beauty, we must see how it fares with our male friends, whom we left at the Falls of the Cauvary, and who are now on their way back to Ootacamund.
“So ends our jungle campaign for the present," said Mansfield, throwing the reins upon the neck of his smoking horse, and removing his heavy hunting-cap, to let the cool mountain-air fan his throbbing temples, as the hunters, after a hot and rapid ride, of some twenty miles, emerged from the dense jungle which encircles the Neilgherry Hills, and commenced the toilsome but beautiful ascent which leads to their summit. “ Away with the spear and the rifle for a season ; and now, Charley my boy, for ladies' eyes and love-ditties! Ha! have I guessed your thoughts?"
Charles, whose eyes had been riveted on the cloud-capped summits of the mountains ever since they became visible, and whose thoughts were, at that moment, many miles in advance of his body, felt the conscious blood mount into his cheeks.
“ Nay, nay, never be ashamed to own it, boy. I have seen a little of the world in my day, and never yet have I met with a real good soldier, a forward rider, or a stanch deer-stalker, who had not a soft corner in his heart for Love. What say you, Doctor, is it not
“ By my troth, Captain, ye never said a truer word,” replied the Doctor. • I ken weel what it is to hae a soft heart, an o'er soft heart
• Continued from No. ccxxx., page 256.
for the Lasses-bless their sweet faces-hech, sirs ! hech,'sirs ! it's just a slavish passion, yon love," and the Doctor heaved a deep sigh, and turned up the whites of his eyes, as if overwhelmed by a torrent of tender recollections,
“What! Bully Doctor," exclaimed Mansfield, laughing, “ art thou, too, a victim to the tender passion ? By the darts of Cupid, I would as soon have expected to see a Brahmin priest turn rope-dancer, as to find our sapient leech acting the love-sick swain. Why, thou burly Scot, I fancied if thou hadst a soft corner in thy heart at all, thy weakness was for a haunch of venison, or a bottle of Glenlivat, rather than the Ladies. But come, Doctor, confess :—who is the enslaver of thy tender heart? Tell me, in sadness, whom she is you love? Her name her name, I pray.”.
“ Whist, Captain," said the Doctor, with a look of mock gravity, “ and dinna' be speakin about things ye dinna’ understand. Ye hae nae mair idea o' what true love is, ye stony-hearted deevle, than that black pagan, Heels; and ye would just like to make sport o' Maister Charles and me, because we hae the feelings o’ Christian men. needna' expect us to pleasure you that far; so ye may just quit wi' your daffin. And now, lads, that ye hae minded me o't, I maun beg o' you no' to crack nae mair o' your jokes about the Glenlivat. It's a' very weel in the jungles; but in civilized society, gentlemen, I beg to remind you that it's no' good manners. In fact, it's just enough to ruin a respectable man's character ; and gar folk believe that he is nae better than a poor drunken body, like my auld grand uncle, the Laird o' Bonniemoon,--rest his soul, honest man ;-and ye ken weel that's no' my case for, although I like a glass o' het toddy as weel as my neighbours, and although we have had twa or three cantie nights thegether, yet ye maun baith allow that ye hae never seen me rightly fou yet-"
“Oh ! oh! Doctor !"
“Ay! ye may cry "oh! oh! But I'll uphaud it that ye hae never seen me right fou yet, although I'll no’ deny but what I hae, anes or twice, been a wee thing hearty and chatty like.”
“Well, Doctor,” replied Mansfield, laughing, “ we'll not dispute the point. You shall have the best possible character for sobriety, and we shall not crack any more jokes about the Glenlivat. But, in return, pray give us a definition of what you consider being fou, that we may know, in future, at what particular stage of obfuscation a cannie Scot may, with propriety, be termed drunk,
“Weel, gentlemen," said the Doctor, looking wise, and taking a pinch of snuff, that's rather a kittle question to answer, for ye maun ken there is a great diversity of opeenion on that subject. Some say that a man is sober as long as he can stand upon his legs. An Ireish friend o' mine-a fire-eating, hard-drinking captain of dragoons, anes declared to me, on his honour as a soldier and a jontleman, that he would never allow any friend of his to be called drunk, till he saw him trying to light his pipe at the pump. And others there be, men of learning and respectability too, who are of opinion that a man has every right to consider himself sober as long as he can lie flat on his back, without holding by the ground. For my own part, I am a moderate person, and would allow that a man was fou, without being just so