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DUVAL THE PIRATE.

JONES MINIMUS passes, laden with tarts.

Duval.–Hullo! you small boy with the tarts! Come here, sir. Jones Minimus.–Please, Duval, they ain’t mine. Duval.–Oh, you abominable young story-teller. [He confiscates the goods.

I think I like young Duval’s mode of levying contributions better than Bullock’s. The former’s, at least, has the merit of more candor. Duval is the pirate of Birch’s, and lies in wait for small boys laden with money or provender. He scents plunder from afar off: and pounces out on it. Woe betide the little fellow when Duval boards him!

There was a youth here whose money I used to keep, as he was of an extravagant and weak taste; and I doled it out to him in weekly shillings, sufficient for the purchase of the necessary tarts. This boy came to me one day for half a sovereign, for a very particular purpose, he said. I afterwards found he wanted to lend the money to Duval.

The young ogre burst out laughing, when in a great wrath and fury I ordered him to refund to the little boy: and proposed a bill of exchange at three months. It is true Duval’s father does not pay the Doctor, and the lad never has a shilling, save that which he levies; and though he is always bragging about the splendor of Freenystown, Co. Cork, and the fox-hounds his father keeps, and the claret they drink there–there comes no remittance from Castle Freeny in these bad times to the honest Doctor; who is a kindly man enough, and never yet turned an insolvent boy out of doors.

THE DORMITORIES.

MASTER HEWLETT AND MASTER NIGHTINGALE

(Rather a cold winter night.)

Hewlett (flinging a shoe at Master Nightingale’s bed, with which he hits that young gentleman).–Hullo, you! Get up and bring me that shoe!

Nightingale.–Yes, Hewlett. (He gets up.)

Hewlett.–Don’t drop it, and be very careful of it, sir.

Nightingale.–Yes, Hewlett.

Hewlett.–Silence in the dormitory! Any boy who opens his mouth, I’ll murder him. Now, sir, are not you the boy what can sing?

Nightingale.–Yes, Hewlett.

Hewlett.–Chant, then, till I go to sleep, and if I wake when you stop, you’ll have this at your head.

[Master HEWLETT lays his Bluchers on the bed, ready to shy at Master Nightingale’s head in the case contemplated.]

Nightingale (timidly).–Please, Hewlett?

Hewlett.–Well, sir?

Nightingale.–May I put on my trousers, please?

Hewlett.–No, sir. Go on, or I’ll–

Nightingale.–

“Through pleasures and palaces

Though we may roam,

Be it ever so humble

There’s no place like home.”

A CAPTURE AND A RESCUE.

My young friend, Patrick Champion, George’s younger brother, is a late arrival among us; has much of the family quality and good nature; is not in the least a tyrant to the small boys, but is as eager as Amadis to fight. He is boxing his way up the school, emulating his great brother. He fixes his eye on a boy above him in strength or size, and you hear somehow that a difference has arisen between them at football, and they have their coats off presently. He has thrashed himself over the heads of many youths in this manner: for instance, if Champion can lick Dobson, who can thrash Hobson, how much more, then, can he thrash Hobson? Thus he works up and establishes his position in the school. Nor does Mr. Prince think it advisable that we ushers should walk much in the way when these little differences are being settled, unless there is some gross disparity, or danger is apprehended.

For instance, I own to having seen this row as I was shaving at my bedroom window. I did not hasten down to prevent its consequences. Fogle had confiscated a top, the property of Snivins; the which, as the little wretch was always pegging it at my toes, I did not regret. Snivins whimpered; and young Champion came up, lusting for battle. Directly he made out Fogle, he steered for him, pulling up his coat-sleeves, and clearing for action.

“Who spoke to YOU, young Champion?” Fogle said, and he flung down the top to Master Snivins. I knew there would be no fight; and perhaps Champion, too, was disappointed.