the boys, fragment of book in hand, were all at their desks,-I, the new boy," had neither book nor desk, and should have looked marvellously like a fool, had I not predetermined, since a flogging must come, to give full value for it: I, therefore, stood grinning by the fire.

"Mr. Snibs," said Dr. Pitchitin, "what has happened?-let me see."

"Look here, sir,” replied Mr. Snibs, pointing, with tragic dignity, to his shoes and their steaming contents," look here!I will not speak of the wickedness of that mind that could waste good victuals in this way;-Sir, there are four more potatoes under the dinner table, -four, sir,-four large mealy ones! Think, sir, of the malice that could insult me by planting these in my very shoes! It is an insult unheard of, artfully contrived, wicked, premeditated, vile, villanous! Sir, the boy as committed this horrid offence must come to the gallows." "Boys," cried Dr. Pitchitin, "boys,-let me see,-who,—that's it, -who did this?"

A dead silence.

"New boy" said Mr. Snibs, "what are you laughing at ?—and, now I think of it, I did not see you eat any potatoes.

name?"

"Fitzroy Pike. What's yours?"

"That's insolence !" said Snibs, in a passion.

"The same question you asked me."

What's your

"Pike," stammered Snibs, with an effort to calm his rage, tell me,-did you eat your potatoes?"

"No," replied I, coolly.

"Pike,

"No!" cried Dr. Pitchitin,-"Not eat any potatoes! No!-let me see, then, what did you have for dinner? What did you do with them ?"

"Threw them under the table when nobody was looking."

"You did, did you?"-shrieked Snibs,-" and you put them in my shoes, did you ?"

"They fell in of their own accord," replied I,—“ I didn't know you aired your feet at dinner time."

Mr. Snibs made no reply, but gave a meaning glance at the Doctor, then leisurely shook the potato from each shoe, the mystery being now elucidated, encased his feet, and sat down, with an awful crash, intended to strike terror into my soul.

"Fitzroy Pike," said Dr. Pitchitin, in a solemn tone, as he tried, in an impressive manner, the elasticity of his cane,-“ I must―let me see-I must flog you,-that's it."

After the orations in the receiving room I little expected a speech so pithy.

"I shall be most happy, I am sure," replied I; "and you are at liberty to commence the moment you catch me.'

It is perfectly useless to protract the scene:-in short, I exasperated both Doctor and usher to madness, received, with Spartan fortitude, a sound thrashing, and established an honourable character in the school, never to be shaken from its foundation.

I do not intend to burden the reader with any detailed account of

my school adventures, but shall content myself merely with describing two of my companions, who became, in after life, to a considerable degree, implicated in my affairs.

The first of these was Tom Briton, a mad-brained dog, who honoured me with his especial patronage and friendship,-led me into a thousand scrapes, and helped me out of them most cleverly;-Tom, most decidedly, cared for no man; he lived only for fun and frolic, whilst still his heart was of the soundest stuff, though frequently led aside by his passion for mirthful amusement.

The other was of a very different character, and won my regard rather by the interest that I felt in him. Eustace Weston was seldom gay; young as he was, he had known the deepest affliction,-loss of parents, loss of the brightest prospects, and, therefore, loss of friends. He was the only boy I ever knew that passed through a school as a gentleman, without drawing upon himself general odium for so novel a conceit. He mixed little with the others, and, what is wonderful, none interfered with him: there was a mystery and interest attached to him; he was, the boys all agreed, not one of themselves. Yet Eustace was kind-hearted and gentle,-I loved him from the first,he was clever, I was not,-but by his assistance I progressed, and we soon became inseparable friends.

Poor Eustace! as I recur now to the days when we were children together, and think of thy sad, untimely fate, of the misery manhood brought thee, why should I strive to repress the honest tear, that, spite of all, will rise?-why withhold the friendly tribute to thy memory? But enough of mournful recollection.

During the first part of my stay at Dr. Pitchitin's, I was bullied and knocked about as a fag: in time I grew to the distinction,—a most enviable one in my situation,-of "big boy;" and, when I was "biggest,"-Tom Briton and Eustace both having left,-my father called me home.

I had learned enough, however, at school, to look with something of contempt on my father's notions of gentility; and, as I found no pleasure in home, many were the arguments between myself and Bob Pike, Esq., in the front parlour at Camberwell, concerning the necessity of my finding some occupation:

Fitzroy," my father would say, "when I opens my ears and sees you a-talkin' of such nonsense, says I to myself, is this you?-Inflect, Fitzroy, inflect on your poor-specks, here is I,-me, that is, Bob, your paternal posteritor,-in yearly possession of a anival hang-youwitty of two hundred and fifty pounds o' starlings per hang'em;— look around on your aunt's-sister-al domains,-the brass plate,-the fixters, the furniter,-and, when you cotton-plates all these here ridges, saysn't you to yerself, says you-all supple-mary trades and trubbles is humbugs all alike,-content is trashers?""

In vain this oratory; not two hundred and fifty pounds a year, furniture and fixtures, were treasures to me,-for I was not content. A lucky accident put an end to all my doubts, promising, for a time at least, to find me occupation.

Walking through London streets, idle and discontented, I received, one day, to my great surprise and discomfiture, a smart clap on the

shoulder,-turning round to resent the affront, I perceived Tom

Briton.

"Pitch it in!” cried he, "that's the magic name!—What a tragic hero you look!"

I laughed, and we shook hands cordially.

"What are you doing Fitz Pike?" asked Tom.
Nothing," replied I, somewhat dolefully.
"Go into partnership with me."

"What trade is it?" inquired I.

66 Trade!" cried he; "none! 'tis a profession." "Which?"

"The honourable profession of medicine in its most popular branch."

"But Tom, you are not qualified, nor am I."

"Quack! quack!" replied Tom Briton, "henceforth, be thou Dr. Gandophilus Eupatoramicocologicus, and I am the mysterious partner,' nameless, sulphureous, what the playbills mark with a —; and we'll play the devil with quacks, in a style they never yet dreamt of: share profits and so on,-make arrangements to-night.'

"Done !" said I,-and done it was: I told my father I had got into the medical profession; and, in the afternoon, met Tom, by appointment, at his own lodgings.

CHAPTER THE THIRD.

After a few Preliminaries, assumes rather a Diabolical Character.-In it is related how my Father sought to conciliate Aunts Tabitha and Dorothea; also how he succeeded. On the whole, however, this Chapter deserves great censure, since it disrespectfully leaves my Grandmother in a very awkward position.

As henceforth my friend, Tom Briton, will occupy a very prominent place in this history, it will, doubtless, be required by many of my lady readers, that I should give materials for forming some idea of his personal appearance. Now styles of description vary: we have, at the one extreme, that ornate and poetical verbosity which, by its eloquence, wins sympathy and applause; whilst the opposite outpost is taken up by that concise and matter-of-fact style adopted in passports, a style under the fetters of which the charms of Venus herself would chill the most susceptible of hearts. A young lady would have improvvised glowing sentiments on Tom Briton's eyes; she would have noted their dark fashes,-the wit, the innocent roguery they conveyed; she would have noted too, that, with all their merriment, they would be first to beam with sympathy at sight of distress, or to cloud at a tale of sorrow; perhaps, a favoured creature, she might have seen them bright with love;-a passport sends us, at once, to Billingsgate, and recals the wars of the ragamuffins with the unpleasant and pithy declaration,-"eyes, black." The pleasing expression of his mouth, the play of mirth and intelligence around it, the noble curl of his lips, and all such beauties, who could overlook? But capacity for bread and butter is the passport's sole consideration, and there we find simply recorded,-" mouth small." His clear, though dark complexion, high, open forehead, and raven black hair, might each have

supplied fire to a dozen sonnets; but they engage three lines only of a passport's attention. Where would you find the passport that would dilate on his handsome figure, or tell of the kind, and wild, and merry qualities that prompted each graceful gesture?

But enough.-"While a thing is being talked about it may be done," say the wiseacres; and, on this principle, I find that Tom Briton has already been described. In the meantime, then, for myself,-modesty, alas! forbids me the delicate task of providing a catalogue of my own charms,-and so, dear reader,-excuse the familiarity, but familiar I hope we are destined to be,—and so, unless some smitten lady artist should publish me in full or fancy dress, sitting before a red curtain upon a green easy chair, it is left for thee only to imagine me, even that which is most agreeable to thyself.

Ye maidens, picture me in some lover's form! and matrons, as some dear friend of youth,-so I be but embodied in pleasing, comely shape, full well shall I be contented.

Now speed we onward with our history.

By the time I reached Tom Briton's lodgings, I had found time to reflect on the nature of the engagement I had made, and a serious question arose in my mind as to its honesty. Communicating this to Tom

"Be at ease," said he; "our intention is not a disreputable trade; but a little mirth,-and, whatever you may think of the farce I have prepared, trust me, the moral at the conclusion shall be strong enough to answer every cavil."

"And how long do you intend to prosecute the joke?"

"Until there arise out of it matter for fresh amusement-and that can scarcely fail. But come, I will show you the preparations."

In a small room, the shutters of which were closed, stood one highbacked arm chair, metamorphosed into a throne, before a table. The walls were hung with black drapery, the room lighted by a concealed lamp in a red shade that cast a mysterious light around; the table was covered with a long black cloth, upon which lay skulls, as matters of course, and manuscripts in hieroglyphics, Greek, Arabic, Hebrew, Chaldee, or short-hand, no matter which, so long as they be generally (perhaps also particularly) unintelligible.

"This is the receiving room," said Tom; then, throwing open a door, he disclosed another room, gaily furnished, communicating also with the passage without. "This," said he, "is the waiting room, to be brilliantly lighted at night, that the contrast on coming from one to the other may be terrific and imposing."

"Imposing indeed!" said I; "Tom, the whole affair savours too much of imposture."

"Be silent, Fitzroy," said my friend, "or wait until you understand the matter, before you express an opinion. Enter into my views for this night only, and when our work is done, if you still disapprove of it,-why then you'll not be Fitzroy Pike-but a senseless savage. Look here, I've provided a dress for you to act in."

"But it won't fit.'

"Fit! why 'tis not intended that it should: it must hang loose in graceful folds.-Try it on."

So saying, he enveloped me in a black garment that bore a striking analogy to the pinafore of some giant child.

"And here," added he, displaying a long bundle of white hair,— "here is your wig!"

"The hair is unnaturally long, considering its whiteness."

"A sign of vast age," exclaimed Tom, "since it must have occupied several centuries, at least, for such a fine crop to be matured." "But my young face

"Will be painted," added Tom.

"And where is your livery?"

My liveries are two," replied he. "See this." He displayed an old print gown, a dirty cap, and straw bonnet. "Thus clothed, when the visiters come to-night, at ten o'clock, I join them, pass for a gossip, and discover what each comes for; then I slip away, put over my human body this disguise,"-it was Satanic," and play my second part in the comedy, telling you all that I have discovered." "If I should be recognized

"On that score, also," said Tom, "be at ease:-to disguise your voice, hold a few stones in your mouth;-there is no harm in following Demosthenes;-and, to convince you that the deception is complete, Bob Pike, Esq. shall be our first patient; and a wise father he will indeed be if he know his own child."

"A good idea," said I, “if we could but carry it out."

"We will.-Where shall we find him?—I'll persuade him at once." "What time is it?"

"Three o'clock."

"O then, without doubt, we shall find him in Regent Street, where he always walks of an afternoon to study manners and mankind. Bythe-bye, Tom, what's the matter with your hair?"

"Ah!" said Tom, "I dare say it looks odd.—I've been advertising." "Advertising!"

"Yes; advertising our levee for to-night."

66

And, in the name of wonder, what effect can that have upon hair!"

"Why, you must know, cheap advertising I perform thus :-In the morning I sally out, with a small-tooth comb in my waistcoat pocket, and go to the nearest and most popular barber to get my hair curled. To him I artfully deliver the substance of my advertisement; he rejoices to circulate it. Leaving this place, I pull out my comb, destroy the curls, and, at a convenient distance, repeat the process: so, dividing the town into districts, I complete my circuit, and puff what I will throughout London at the expense of advertising in a single journal. These media, in the prosecution of my sport, I have employed so frequently, that there is not now a hairdresser in the metropolis who does not hail with peculiar rapture my entrance into his shop, as the conveyer of mysterious or curious information. But, allons!-to seek your father in Regent Street." Hurrying on, we soon arrived at our destination.

Regent Street is verily a curious place-a gay, lazily busy, languidly bustling scene: thither, from the peer to the pot-boy, repair all the idlers in London. Here, on the foot-path, we see a tall, overgrown,