General behavior......excellent.
English...............very good.
French................tres bien.
Latin.................optime.
And so on:—he possessed all the virtues, and wrote to us every month for money. My dear Jemmy and I determined to go and see him, after he had been at school a quarter; we went, and were shown by Mr. Coddler, one of the meekest, smilingest little men I ever saw, into the bedrooms and eating-rooms (the dromitaries and refractories he called them), which were all as comfortable as comfortable might be. “It is a holiday, today,” said Mr. Coddler; and a holiday it seemed to be. In the dining-room were half a dozen young gentlemen playing at cards (“All tip-top nobility,” observed Mr. Coddler);—in the bedrooms there was only one gent: he was lying on his bed, reading novels and smoking cigars. “Extraordinary genius!” whispered Coddler. “Honorable Tom Fitz-Warter, cousin of Lord Byron's; smokes all day; and has written the SWEETEST poems you can imagine. Genius, my dear madam, you know—genius must have its way.” “Well, UPON my word,” says Jemmy, “if that's genius, I had rather that Master Tuggeridge Coxe Tuggeridge remained a dull fellow.”
“Impossible, my dear madam,” said Coddler. “Mr. Tuggeridge Coxe COULDN'T be stupid if he TRIED.”
Just then up comes Lord Claude Lollypop, third son of the Marquis of Allycompane. We were introduced instantly: “Lord Claude Lollypop, Mr. and Mrs. Coxe.” The little lord wagged his head, my wife bowed very low, and so did Mr. Coddler; who, as he saw my lord making for the playground, begged him to show us the way.—“Come along,” says my lord; and as he walked before us, whistling, we had leisure to remark the beautiful holes in his jacket, and elsewhere.
About twenty young noblemen (and gentlemen) were gathered round a pastry-cook's shop at the end of the green. “That's the grub-shop,” said my lord, “where we young gentlemen wot has money buys our wittles, and them young gentlemen wot has none, goes tick.”
Then we passed a poor red-haired usher sitting on a bench alone. “That's Mr. Hicks, the Husher, ma'am,” says my lord. “We keep him, for he's very useful to throw stones at, and he keeps the chaps' coats when there's a fight, or a game at cricket.—Well, Hicks, how's your mother? what's the row now?” “I believe, my lord,” said the usher, very meekly, “there is a pugilistic encounter somewhere on the premises—the Honorable Mr. Mac—”
“Oh! COME along,” said Lord Lollypop, “come along: this way, ma'am! Go it, ye cripples!” And my lord pulled my dear Jemmy's gown in the kindest and most familiar way, she trotting on after him, mightily pleased to be so taken notice of, and I after her. A little boy went running across the green. “Who is it, Petitoes?” screams my lord. “Turk and the barber,” pipes Petitoes, and runs to the pastry-cook's like mad. “Turk and the ba—,” laughs out my lord, looking at us. “HURRA! THIS way, ma'am!” And turning round a corner, he opened a door into a court-yard, where a number of boys were collected, and a great noise of shrill voices might be heard. “Go it, Turk!” says one. “Go it, barber!” says another. “PUNCH HITH LIFE OUT!” roars another, whose voice was just cracked, and his clothes half a yard too short for him!
Fancy our horror when, on the crowd making way, we saw Tug pummelling away at the Honorable Master MacTurk! My dear Jemmy, who don't understand such things, pounced upon the two at once, and, with one hand tearing away Tug, sent him spinning back into the arms of his seconds, while, with the other, she clawed hold of Master MacTurk's red hair, and, as soon as she got her second hand free, banged it about his face and ears like a good one.
“You nasty—wicked—quarrelsome—aristocratic” (each word was a bang)—“aristocratic—oh! oh! oh!”—Here the words stopped; for what with the agitation, maternal solicitude, and a dreadful kick on the shins which, I am ashamed to say, Master MacTurk administered, my dear Jemmy could bear it no longer, and sunk fainting away in my arms.
DOWN AT BEULAH.