said the collector. "It made me cry almost; 'pon my honor it did."

"Because you have a kind heart, Mr. Joseph all the Sedleys have, I think.".

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It kept me awake last night, and I was trying to hum it this morning, in bed; I was, upon my honor. Gollop, my doctor, came in at eleven (for I'm a sad invalid, you know, and see Gollop every day), and, 'gad! there I was, singing away like-a robin."

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O you droll creature! Do let me hear you sing it."

"Me? No, you, Miss Sharp; my dear Miss Sharp, do sing it."

ment), and other commodities. A dreadful day it was for young Dobbin when one of the youngsters of the school, having run into the town upon a poaching excursion for hardbake and polonies, espied the cart of Dobbin & Rudge, Grocers and Oilmen, Thamesstreet, London, at the doctor's door, discharging a cargo of the wares in which the firm dealt.

Young Dobbin had no peace after that. The jokes were frightful, and merciless against him. "Hullo, Dobbin," one wag would say, "here's good news in the paper. Sugars is ris', my boy." Another would set "Not now, Mr. Sedley," said Rebecca, a sum—" If a pound of mutton candles cost with a sigh. "My spirits are not equal to sevenpence-halfpenny, how much must Dobit: besides, I must finish the purse. Will bin cost?" and a roar would follow from all you help me, Mr. Sedley?" And before the circle of young knaves, usher and all, he had time to ask how, Mr. Joseph Sedley, who rightly considered that the selling of of the East India Company's service, was goods by retail is a shameful and infamous actually seated tête-à-tête with a young lady, practice, meriting the contempt and scorn of looking at her with a most killing expression; all real gentlemen. his arms stretched out before her in an imploring attitude, and his hands bound in a web of green silk, which she was unwinding.

CHAPTER V.

DOBBIN OF OURS.

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Your father's only a merchant, Osborne,” Dobbin said in private to the little boy who had brought down the storm upon him. At which the latter replied haughtily, "My father's a gentleman, and keeps his carriage;" and Mr. William Dobbin retreated to a remote outhouse in the play-ground, where he passed a half-holiday in the bitterest sadness and wo. Who among us is there that does not recollect similar hours of bitter, bitter childish grief! Who feels injustice; who shrinks before a slight; who has a sense of wrong so acute, and so glowing a gratitude for kindness, as a generous boy? and how many of those gentle souls do you degrade, estrange, torture, for the sake of a little loose arithmetic, and miserable dogLatin?

William Dobbin, from an incapacity to acquire the rudiments of the above language, as they are propounded in that wonderful Curr's fight with Dobbin, and the unex- book the Eton Latin Grammar, was compected issue of that contest, will long be re-pelled to remain among the very last of Docmembered by every man who was educated tor Swishtail's scholars, and was "taken at Dr. Swishtail's famous school. The lat-down" continually by little fellows with pink ter youth (who used to be called Heigh-ho faces and pinafores when he marched up Dobbin, Gee-ho Dobbin, and by many other with the lower form, a giant among then, names indicative of puerile contempt) was with his downcast, stupefied look, his dogsthe quietest, the clumsiest, and, as it seem-eared primer, and his tight corduroys. High ed, the dullest of all Dr. Swishtail's young and low, all made fun of him. They sewed gentlemen. His parent was a grocer in the city and it was bruited abroad that he was admitted into Dr. Swishtail's academy upon what are called "mutual principles"-that is to say, the expenses of his board and schooling were defrayed by his father, in goods, not money; and he stood therealmost at the bottom of the school-in his scraggy corduroys and jacket, through the seams of which his great big bones were bursting as the representative of so many Cuff, on the contrary, was the great chief pounds of tea, candles, sugar, mottled-soap, and dandy of the Swishtail Seminary. He plums (of which a very mild proportion was smuggled wine in. He fought the townsupplied for the puddings of the establish- boys. Ponies used to come for him to ride

up those corduroys, tight as they were. They cut his bed-strings. They upset buckets and benches, so that he might break his shins over them, which he never failed to do. They sent him parcels, which, when opened, were found to contain the paternal soap and candles. There was no little fellow but had his jeer and joke at Dobbin; and he bore every thing quite patiently, and was entirely dumb and miserable.

home on Saturdays. He had his top-boots | almost happy. If people would but leave in his room, in which he used to hunt in the children to themselves; if teachers would holidays. He had a gold repeater: and took snuff like the doctor. He had been to the opera, and knew the merits of the principal actors, preferring Mr. Kean to Mr. Kemble. He could knock you off forty Latin verses in an hour. He could make French poetry. What else didn't he know, or couldn't he do? They said even the doctor himself was afraid of him.

cease to bully them; if parents would not insist upon directing their thoughts, and dominating their feelings-those feelings and thoughts which are a mystery to all (for how much do you and I know of each other, of our children, of our fathers, of our neighbor, and how far more beautiful and sacred are the thoughts of the poor lad or girl whom you govern likely to be, than those of the dull and world-corrupted person who rules him?)-if, I say, parents and masters would

small harm would accrue, although a less quantity of as in præsenti might be acquired.

Cuff, the unquestioned king of the school, ruled over his subjects, and bullied them, with splendid superiority. This one black-leave their children alone a little more, ed his shoes: that toasted his bread: others would fag out, and give him balls at cricket during whole summer afternoons. Figs" was the fellow whom he despised most, and with whom, though always abusing him, and sneering at him, he scarcely ever condescended to hold personal communication.

One day, in private, the two young gentlemen had had a difference. Figs, alone in the school-room, was blundering over a home letter; when Cuff, entering, bade him go upon some message, of which tarts were probably the subject.

"I can't," says Dobbin, "I want to finish my letter."

"You can't?" says Mr. Cuff, laying hold of that document (in which many words were scratched out, many were mis-spelled, on which had been spent I don't know how much thought, and labor, and tears; for the poor fellow was writing to his mother, who was fond of him, although she was a grocer's wife, and lived in a back parlor in Thamesstreet), "You can't?" says Mr. Cuff; "I should like to know why, pray? Can't you write to old Mother Figs to-morrow?"

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'Don't call names," Dobbin said, getting off the bench, very nervous.

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Well, sir, will you go?" crowed the cock of the school.

"Put down the letter," Dobbin replied; "no gentleman readth letterth."

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Well, William Dobbin had for once forgotten the world, and was away with Sindbad the Sailor in the Valley of Diamonds, or with Prince Whatdyecallem and the Fairy Peribanou in that delightful cavern where the prince found her, and whither we should all like to make a tour; when shrill cries, as of a little fellow weeping, woke up his pleasant reverie; and, looking up, he saw Cuff before him, belaboring a little boy.

It was the lad who had peached upon him about the grocer's cart; but he bore little malice, not at least toward the young and small. How dare you, sir, break the bottle ?" says Cuff to the little urchin, swinging a yellow cricket-stump over him.

The boy had been instructed to get over the play-ground wall (at a selected spot where the broken glass had been removed from the top, and niches made convenient in the brick); to run a quarter of a mile; to purchase a pint of rum-shrub on credit; to brave all the doctor's outlying spies, and to clamber back into the play-ground again; during the performance of which feat, his foot had slipped, and the bottle was broken, and the shrub had been spilled, and his pantaloons had been damaged, and he appeared before his employer a perfectly guilty and trembling, though harmless, wretch.

"How dare you, sir, break it?" said Cuff; "you blundering little thief. You drank the

the bottle. Hold out your hand, sir.”

Well, now will you go?" says the other. No, I won't. Don't strike, or I'll thmash you," roars out Dobbin, springing to a lead-shrub, and now you pretend to have broken en inkstand, and looking so wicked, that Mr. Cuff paused, turned down his coat-sleeves again, put his hands into his pockets, and walked away with a sneer. But he never meddled personally with the grocer's boy after that; though we must do him the justice to say he always spoke of Mr. Dobbin with contempt behind his back.

Down came the stump with a great heavy thump on the child's hand. A moan followed. Dobbin looked up. The Prince Peribanou had fled into the inmost cavern with Prince Ahmed: the roc had whisked away Sindbad the Sailor out of the Valley of Diamonds out of sight, far into the clouds: and there was every-day life before honest Some time after this interview, it happen-William; and a big boy beating a little one ed that Mr. Cuff, on a sunshiny afternoon, without cause. was in the neighborhood of poor William Dobbin, who was lying under a tree in the play-ground, spelling over a favorite copy of the Arabian Nights which he had-apart from the rest of the school, who were pur-clothes. suing their various sports-quite lonely and "Take that, you little devil!" cried Mr.

"Hold out your other hand, sir," roars Cuff to his little school-fellow, whose face was distorted with pain. Dobbin quivered, and gathered himself up in his narrow old

Cuff, and down came the wicket again on the child's hand. Don't be horrified, ladies, every boy at a public school has done it. Your children will so do and be done by, in all probability. Down came the wicket again; and Dobbin started up.

you know I'm used to it." But Figs, all whose limbs were in a quiver, and whose nostrils were breathing rage, put his little bottle-holder aside, and went in for a fourth time.

As he did not in the least know how to Tor-parry the blows that were aimed at himself, and Cuff had begun the attack on the three preceding occasions, without ever allowing his enemy to strike, Figs now determined that he would commence the engagement by a charge on his own part; and accordingly, being a left-handed man, brought that arm into action, and hit out a couple of times with all his might-once at Mr. Cuff's left eye, and once on his beautiful Roman nose. Cuff went down this time, to the astonishment of the assembly. "Well hit, by Jove," says little Osborne, with the air of a connoisseur, clapping his man on the back. "Give it him with the left, Figs, my boy."

I can't tell what his motive was. ture in a public school is as much licensed as the knout in Russia. It would be ungentlemanlike (in a manner) to resist it. Perhaps Dobbin's foolish soul revolted against that exercise of tyranny; or, perhaps, he had a hankering feeling of revenge in his mind, and longed to measure himself against that splendid bully and tyrant, who had all the glory, pride, pomp, circumstance, banners flying, drums beating, guards saluting, in the place. Whatever may have been his incentive, however, up he sprang, and screamed out, "Hold off, Cuff; don't bully that child any more; or I'll"Or you'll, what?" Cuff asked in amazement at this interruption. "Hold out your hand, you little beast."

Figs' left made terrific play during all the rest of the combat. Cuff went down every time. At the sixth round, there were almost as many fellows shouting out, "Go it, Figs," as there were youths exclaiming,

"I'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had in your life," Dobbin said, in reply to the first part of Cuff's sentence; and lit-"Go it, Cuff." At the twelfth round the tle Osborne, gasping and in tears, looked up latter champion was all abroad, as the saywith wonder and incredulity at seeing this ing is, and had lost all presence of mind and amazing champion put up suddenly to defend power of attack or defense. Figs, on the him: while Cuff's astonishment was scarce- contrary, was as calm as a Quaker. His face ly less. Fancy our late monarch, George being quite pale, his eyes shining open, and III., when he heard of the revolt of the a great cut on his under lip bleeding profuseNorth American colonies: fancy brazen Go- ly, gave this young fellow a fierce and ghastly liath, when little David stepped forward and air, which perhaps struck terror into many claimed a meeting: and you have the feel- spectators. Nevertheless, his intrepid adings of Mr. Reginald Cuff when this ren-versary prepared to close for the thirteenth counter was proposed to him.

"After school," says he, of course; after a pause and a look, as much as to say, "Make your will, and communicate your best wishes to your friends between this time and that."

"As you please," Dobbin said. "You must be my bottle-holder, Osborne."

Yes, when the hour of battle came, he was almost ashamed to say, "Go it, Figs;" and not a single other boy in the place uttered that cry for the first two or three rounds of this famous combat; at the commencement of which the scientific Cuff, with a contemptuous smile on his face, and as light and as gay as if he was at a ball, planted his blows upon his adversary, and floored that unlucky champion three times running. At each fall there was a cheer; and every body was anxious to have the honor of offering the conquerer a knee.

"What a licking I shall get when it's over," young Osborne thought, picking up his man. 64 You'd best give in," he said to Dobbin; "it's only a thrashing, Figs, and

time.

If I had the pen of a Napier, or a Bell's Life, I should like to describe this combat properly. It was the last charge of the Guard-(that is, it would have been, only Waterloo had not yet taken place)—it was Ney's column breasting the hill of La Haye Sainte, bristling with ten thousand bayonets, and crowded with twenty eagles-it was the shout of the beef-eating British, as leaping down the hill they rushed to hug the enemy in the savage arms of battle-in other words, Cuff, coming up full of pluck, but quite reeling and groggy, the Fig-merchant put in his left as usual on his adversary's nose, and sent him down for the last time.

"I think that will do for him," Figs said, as his opponent dropped as neatly on the green as I have seen Jack Spot's ball plump into the pocket at billiards; and the fact is, when time was called, Mr. Reginald Cuff was not able, or did not choose to stand up again.

And now all the boys set up such a shout for Figs as would make you think he had been their darling champion through the whole battle; and as absolutely brought Dr. Swishtail out of his study, curious to know the cause of the uproar. He threatened to

flog Figs violently, of course; but Cuff, who | summer examination. You should have had come to himself by this time, and was seen his mother's face when Telemaque washing his wounds, stood up and said, "It's my fault, sir-not Figs'-not Dobbin's. I was bullying a little boy; and he served me right." By which magnanimous speech he not only saved his conquerer a whipping, but got back all his ascendency over the boys, which his defeat had nearly cost him.

And Dobbin's spirit rose with his altered circumstances. He made wonderful advances in scholastic learning. The superb Cuff himself, at whose condescension Dobbin could only blush and wonder, helped him on with his Latin verses; "coached" him in play-hours; carried him triumphantly out of the little-boy class into the middlesized form; and even there got a fair place for him. It was discovered, that although dull at classical learning, at mathematics he was uncommonly quick. To the contentment of all, he passed third in algebra, and got a French prize-book at the public mid-en years ago?"

"Over Mrs. Flamingo's crimson silk | Amelia would never have been so bold as to gown," said good-natured Mrs. Sedley. come singing into the room. As it was, the "What a gawky it was! And his sisters sweet, fresh little voice went straight to the are not much more graceful. Lady Dob- captain's heart, and nestled there. When bin was at Highbury last night with three she held out her hand for him to shake, beof them. Such figures! my dears." fore he enveloped it in his own, he paused, and thought-"Well, is it possible-are you the little maid I remember in the pink frock, such a short time ago—the night I upset the punchbowl, just after I was gazetted. Are you the little girl that George Osborne said should marry him? What a blooming young creature you seem, and what a prize the rogue has got!" All this he thought, before he took Amelia's hand into his own, and as he let his cocked-hat fall.