to me for help, sir, when you get into disgrace!"
I replied, with some asperity, that
in such a case, I would rather prefer going to
the evil one for help, which I own was very
improper, although it exactly expressed what
I meant at the time. Robert, who was a
clergyman by this time, reprimanded me for
making use of such an expression; my mother
entreated me for her sake to keep my temper;
the aggrieved party (if Susan were she)
insisted on my being beaten; and my poor old
father, with quavering voice and shaking
hand, besought that his children would not
hurry him to his grave, by their disputes,
before his time was ripe. This scene was
not the last by many, which embitter the
memory of boyhood to this day.

I had been unquestionably a good deal
spoilt; but I am sure I was of a pliable
and loving disposition up to this time. In
one winter half-year at school, however,
when I was changing from the remove to
the fifth form— from the governed to the
governing classes— a circumstance occurred
which altered my temper as much as my
prospects. The captain of the house in
which I lodged was a bully; one of the
few creatures I ever knew (and a very rare
vermin at Eton) who could shut himself up
alone with a victim, for the enjoyment of
torture. He had always hated and oppressed
me; and, seeing his chances of tyranny draw
near their end by my advancement, he determined
to take it out of me, while he could.
He actually locked himself into my room for
the purpose of thrashing me with a cricket-
bat; and, after a little struggle, in which his
superior strength easily prevailed, he did
thrash me. I resisted to the utmost, and,
wild with rage, threw at him as he left the
room, the first weapon within reach, an open
penknife. He turned round sharply with a
cry, and knocking his side against the doorpost
violently, the haft was broken off where
it was projected, and the blade left in his
ribs. It seemed to me,— who was then
nothing better than a scapegrace, that,
although the full extent of the injury inflicted
was accidental, one need have no more scruple
about punishing such brutes than in destroying
polecats. But the head master thought
otherwise. My tyrant had the meanness to
say I had provoked the conflict, and then
stabbed him with my own hand. So I
came back to my father's house an expelled
boy.

I had plenty of leaving books given to me,
plenty of good wishes, and even a letter from
my tutor, explaining the circumstances as he
himself (rightly) believed them to have occurred;
but my father said, " He will never be
my Charlie again." Robert said nothing, but
wore a smirk of satisfaction. Susan remarked
it was, "just what she had expected from the
beginning; " and my mother— I think she saw
how it was going to be with me through life—
when she came into my room at night, as her
custom was, prayed God to defend me from
myself, or to take me away at once out of the
pitiless world.

Whenever from that day I answered Sister
Susan, she would say; " There, young gentleman,
you are doubtless right; but pray don't
stab me." While her brother on all occasions
eyed me as the Grand Inquisitor might be
supposed to have eyed a Jew: and I dare say
he would have enjoyed my auto-da-fé hugely.
He had the selection of my next school; and
it did a great deal of credit to his choice: it
was cheap, it was a long way off, and its
studies were not rudely broken in upon by
vacations. The boys were shocking little
blackguards, and Mr. Parrot, the master,
was a shocking big blackguard. He was
accustomed to beat me with one end of a
threepenny cane until it became frayed at
the edges, and then he beat me with the
other end. I was employed in regular work
for ten hours a-day, except on the afternoons
of Wednesday and Saturday and all
day on Sunday; at which times I was
confined in the frowsy schoolroom for arrears.
This last misery, to one like myself, who had
been brought up in the open air, became
quite insufferable, and at last I ran away.
The place was not very far from London;
and thither, in preference to going homeward,
I determined to decamp.

Now, it so happened that Monday--
the day on which I put this design into
execution— was that appointed for the
French master to come over to Rodwell
Academy, I met him upon the road. He was a
fine old fellow, who had served in Napoleon's
grand army and at Waterloo; and he marched
with his stick thrown back over his shoulder,
like a sword. I had a bundle of clothing
and traps in my hand, and was running like
the wind, so that Monsieur Pifar did not require
to be a philosopher to discover my intention.
"Stop, stop, mon enfant," he shouted,
with his stick-sword at arm's length, to
bar my passage, " Vat dat you run for,
Monsieur Charley, you will not be back for
my class, I fear , for the encore une fois, mon
cher, since you never do read aright the first
time. We will go back together now, to
have our leetle deealogue." Now, the leetle
deealogue was just what I had timed my
escape to avoid; those interesting French
and English conversations which we were
obliged to hold on Monday mornings, such as,
"Will it not be better to ring the bell for
candles ? " or, " How far is it from this place
to Lisle?" So I backed a little, and leaped
the hedge on my right hand to avoid his
company. The Frenchman charged after me
as if he were again at Mont Saint Jean,
and we sped over the ploughed land at
racing speed. Trusting in my activity and
endurance, and willing at all times to make
the most I could out of everything, I took him
over the stiffest country and across the broadest
dykes I could find. Twice in that great