Let us suppose the scene—a moderate-sized room—with eighteen beds or so in it, and the same number of boys in them, varying in age from eight to twelve, with every variety of nightcap, from the cosey linen one fitting "snod" to the head, and tied well under the chin, to the dignified and manly double cotton with long tuft; these enclosing all the varieties of hair, known as turnips, carrots, candles, &c. "Now Grant," shouts the biggest of the lot, "it's your turn to tell a story to-night—don't be afraid, (he was a new lad,) any thing will do, so fire away, and I'll thrash the first that interrupts him." The youth thus addressed, having evidently prepared his story, begins slowly and argumentatively thus:—"Well, once upon a time there was a mill" (it was considered a solecism to omit a mill or a castle,) "in a great plain—and a family lived there—well—and so there were three men, and they went out one night and walked across the plain—and it grew quite dark;" (here, one of the youngest lads, frightened at the fearful ideas conjured up by the last words, gives a faint sigh;) "and so after a bit they began to feel hungry—and one said Look! there's a light! and they all swore a solemn oath that they would go to where it was, and get something to eat, or else kill one another." (Here evident proofs are given that the greater portion of the audience are deeply interested in the progress of the tale, for various small sighs are heard, indicative either of sympathy with sufferers under the pangs of hunger, or of apprehension lest the three "jurors," taking the Kilkenny cats as precedents, should eventually become all of them homicides.) "Well—and so they went to the mill—and one of them knocked—and then the miller got up, and sharpening a large knife went to the door and asked who was there?—and the boldest of the three told him, that they were three travellers, and wanted food and a lodging. So the miller let them in, and they had a jolly good tuck-out of tea and buttered toast, and then went to bed.——And so my story's ended."
"Grant—come here!" mildly observes the biggest of the crew. The youth thus addressed rises cheerfully—advances boldly—and falls precipitately—levelled by a well-aimed bolster. "Now Grant!" continues the non-appreciator of a tale worthy for its simplicity of conception of a Wordsworth—for its pensive dénouement of a Dickens;—"Now Grant, just pick that up—and won't I lick you to-morrow morning, you precious fool—that's all."
I cannot lay the flattering unction to my soul, of believing that the modern dormitory could produce so striking a proof of talent. No sir; from fountains such as these have risen the immortal strains of a —— and a —— (you can fill in the names). In vain will the survivors of the next generation look for any similar display of talent. But if this fail to convince you of the decided superiority of the boys of auld lang syne in one branch of knowledge, give me your attention whilst I recount an overpowering proof, that in appreciation of real wit and talent for the ludicrous, they were indeed unrivalled. A new lad had come, who from having liberally bestowed various "tucks" on almost every one of his friends in the bed-room was popular on the whole, and received very cordially by us all. At all our stories connected with the various "masters," "monitors," "servants," boys that had left, and boys that remained, (and some of them were by no means amiss,) he seemed rather to sneer, so that he was voted a dull fellow—a spoon—a sap. When, however, emboldened by acquaintance with us, he began to talk of the school he had left, his delight, and even laughter, knew no bounds. "Oh! master was such a jolly fellow"—he said one day to a select circle of friends—"and such a funny fellow too he was you don't know—he! he! he! he used to make us laugh so—he! he! I'll tell you such a funny story of him. There was a lad called Brown, and master called him Jacky, because his name was John—he! he! he! Well, one day at dinner, Jacky had only had once of meat, but he'd two helps of pood;" "Of what?" we all exclaimed. "Oh! we called rolly, pood, to distinguish it from stick-jaw," was the explanation given. "So when master said, 'Well, Jacky, will you have any more pudding?' he! he! he! Jacky said, he! he! 'Please sir,' he! he! ha! and master said—he! he! 'Jacky's fond of pudding!' he! he! he! wasn't that funny?"
Having laughed immoderately at the profound and irresistible drollery of Jack Brown's dominie, protesting, that two such schoolmasters would be the death of us, we were all—that is, the whole Omnibus-fraternity in vehicle assembled,—suddenly checked in our hilarity, and sat with solemn visages to listen to
"One struggle more and I am free From pangs that rend my heart in twain."—Byron.
Oh! thou, who wert my all of hope—
Of love—of joy, in early years;
Ere aught I knew about the shop,