Chapter VI: Part II (4)

The most intelligent little dog of my acquaintance, however, is called ‘Tip.’ Good-natured people say he is a ‘fancy-pug;’ unkind friends declare he is a mongrel; but all agree in saying that such charming ugliness never before existed, and, as for sense and cleverness, his equal would be hard to find. Tip’s mamma is a great beauty, a true Japanese pug; his father was a thoroughbred English pug; but neither of his parents are as sagacious as Tip. He resembles his mother in the colour of his coat, which is quite different from that of an ordinary pug, being just like a chestnut in hue, and is as glossy and sleek as satin. It is not in consequence of Tip’s own instincts that his appearance is so beautiful, for he hates his bi-weekly baths. If I say, ‘Tip come and be washed,’ he uncurls his tail, droops his ears, and sits up to beg, shivering piteously, and from time to time holding out his paw to shake hands, as if he thought that would avert his destiny. He really enjoys the most luxurious bathing arrangements, warm water, a good fire, his own sponge and soap, and a large sheet to be dried in. He emerges from his tub looking quite beautiful, but still he is wretched for some hours. When any one says, ‘Naughty Tip,’ he retires into a corner and sits up with his face to the wall till he is forgiven. He has a large and affectionate heart, but his entire devotion is kept for his master whom he perfectly adores. He will only sleep at his feet with his chin resting on them; and, when he leaves the house, Tip is miserable till he returns, watching the door, searching every room for him, and finally welcoming him home with the most frantic joy. To children he is very partial, and perfectly good-tempered in spite of being pulled about by them. A small brown baby was lately added to the establishment where Tip’s home is, and he is most absurd about this infant. When he is left alone with the little creature he guards it most carefully, and licks its hands and feet assiduously; but, when his master speaks to the baby, Tip’s jealousy is aroused, and he dashes about the room, barking, jumps up on his master, licks his boots, does all he can to distract his attention. Any one else may take as much notice as they like of poor baby, but his papa is not to speak or even look at him without Tip’s permission; and it is quite sad to see the expression of real suffering in his large eyes whilst the baby is caressed. It is to be hoped this feeling will subside, and his master is very careful not to wound his feelings by neglect. A few days ago Tip discovered that the servants had not filled his basin, which stands in the hall, with water, and that it was quite empty; so he took in his mouth the piece of sulphur which is kept in it, and trotted off to the room where his master was sitting, laid it down at his feet, and retreated to a short distance wagging his tail, as much as to say, ‘Pray help me in this little difficulty.’

There never was a more friendly and sociable dog than Tip, and he has a large circle of acquaintances among both people and dogs; but his chosen friend is a very handsome Gordon setter, ‘Royal’ by name. Now, although Royal is ten times as big as Tip he is not nearly as clever; consequently Tip looks after Royal when they are out walking, and is full of anxiety because his big friend will roam so far away. Tip only goes a certain distance, looks back anxiously, and tries to coax Royal to return; then, if the other dog persists in keeping at a distance, Tip gallops back and insists, by jumps and barks, on Royal’s being summoned; nor will anything else satisfy him. It is so pretty to see these two at play. Royal lies on his back with his four legs straight up in the air and his great mouth wide open, into which Tip thrusts his head, and you hear the bell on Tip’s collar ringing half way down Royal’s throat! Then Tip jumps on Royal and walks up and down his broad beautiful chest. As soon as this has gone on long enough Royal leaps suddenly up, and the shock throws Tip high into the air as if he were a shuttle-cock! Then, as he touches the ground, the game recommences by Royal pretending to run away, and Tip scampering after him, bringing the big dog back by one of his long silky ears. After some time Royal’s mistress says, ‘Now, children, that is enough; sit down and be quiet;’ and they retreat to different corners of the room and lie down, panting. Tip cannot understand Royal’s taste for ices, and when he sees his big friend enjoying himself at Gunter’s with a ‘strawberry cream,’ Tip sniffs at the dainty, and looks up in his master’s face with a shiver of disgust, for Tip prefers warmth, and is never so happy as when basking in the sunshine.

I cannot give you a description of Tip’s varied accomplishments, for he is always improving his education, and gives Royal lessons in begging, walking, ‘on trust,’ &c.; but he has one game of play in which he indulges when alone, and which is exceedingly ridiculous. He takes the end of his tail firmly in his mouth—and this is the most difficult part of the performance, as it is tightly curled over his back—and twirls round and round until he falls down from giddiness; as soon as he can get up he sets off again the reverse way, and he has been seen to go on thus for half an hour. Tip often makes journeys by the underground railway, which he hates, and, as soon as his master gets out of the carriage, Tip scampers off up the steps until he comes to the ticket collector; there he stops and sits down sedately, looking up in the man’s face from time to time, as much as to say, ‘It’s all right,’ till his master arrives with the tickets: as soon as these are given up Tip knows he may pass, and sets off at full speed for the open street. The reason of this conduct is, that he was once stopped by a ticket collector and detained until his master claimed him: he evidently learned how to manage in future.

I must end this chapter by telling you of a narrow escape poor Tip had lately. His home is in a distant part of London, and he is fond of disporting himself in the square in front of his dwelling. Into this inclosure dogs are not generally admitted, but, as Shakspeare tells us, that ‘Nice customs curtesy to great kings,’ so all rules are relaxed in favour of a little dog who fascinates everybody in spite of his very ugly face. Tip therefore is allowed to run after his ball within the square, and he was thus amusing himself, much to the delight of his young friends, when a small pack of beagles passed by the half-open gate in charge of a feeble old coachman. The ball was instantly neglected, and Tip darted out to welcome the strangers: but what a reception he met with; the whole pack thought he was a hare, down went their heads up went their sterns and uttering their musical cry they chevyed poor Tip round and round the square. Every now and then Tip thought to himself, ‘This _must_ be all a mistake, they only want to play;’ so he would stop his career and turn short round with the most amiable expression of face, wagging his tail furiously as if he would say, ‘Now that’s enough, pax;’ but he was instantly tumbled over and worried, so he had to pick himself up as best he might and resume his flight. He never thought of coming to his master for shelter; he evidently considered he could manage matters alone; his mistress was frantic; she flew to the old coachman, and scolded him well for bringing out such brutes; but he was quite helpless and frightened, and only said, ‘I durs’n’t go near ’em;’ then she turned to see Tip’s master beating off some of the dogs, but one vixen had got Tip down on the ground and was choking him, whilst another was helping to worry him. The poor little doggie was quite exhausted, and seemed to have resigned himself to his fate. He was all over wounds, and his ugly little turned-up nose was a mass of bites. His mistress thought it was time to rush to the rescue of her pet and friend; so she boldly dashed in among the shrubs, and, in spite of furious snaps and snarls, and getting her gown torn into ribbons, she picked up her beloved Tip and carried him off in safety and triumph. Tip’s gratitude was great, and he showed it in a thousand pretty ways, though he was so thoroughly done he could hardly stand. Whenever he afterwards passed any dog in the street which at all resembled his enemies, the beagles, Tip gave them a very wide berth, and looked at them with an expression which meant, ‘I’ll have nothing to say to you.’

Dear little Tip, long may he live! for his life is a very happy one; he is so good-tempered and unselfish that everyone loves him; and he is not in the least pampered or indulged, consequently he is always in perfect health, and ready for a game of play. He has just brought me his little collar and laid it at my feet, so I must leave off writing and take him out for a walk; that is what he wishes me to do.

ABOUT BOYS.

I have numbered many pet boys among my kinsfolk and friends, and I am going to tell you a few of their pranks. It would not be fair, I suppose, to the little girls, to relate _their_ pieces of mischief, for they are nearly all grown up now, and have boys and girls of their own, who would be very much shocked if they could know that mamma had ever been concerned in a small riot, or had nearly killed herself in attempting to fly down from a heap of piled up boxes, by means of large paper wings! I am sorry to say that my own chicks prefer the recital of their mother’s wrong doings to any other tale, and when,

Between the dark and the day-light,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day’s occupations
That is known as the children’s hour,

I am taken prisoner, held captive in an armchair by the fire, and not released till I have told, for the hundredth time, most of my own childish scrapes. Once or twice I have tried to substitute a little stray bit of goodness, but that was not half as popular as ‘Mamma’s naughtiness.’

One of my earliest pets was a tiny boy who would have been very pretty if he had not been disfigured by a black and blue lump about as big as a pigeon’s egg on his forehead. At first I thought it was caused by a fall, but it turned out to be his own doing. Whenever he was thwarted or annoyed in any way he deliberately knelt down and thumped his head on the floor, even on that of the marble hall. I have seen him drop on his knees and hit his forehead against the pavement out walking, and the curious part of the story is that, although it must have hurt him a good deal, he never cried! He was not at all an ill-tempered child, but he was rather wilful; and if his wishes were not at once attended to, these knocks began and went on till he got his own way. The doctor said it was very bad for him, and his mother tried every means to cure this trick. In vain were all her attempts until some one suggested a little counter-irritation, and it proved quite successful. Whenever Master Willie dropped on his knees and began to knock his head, his mother produced a small light horsewhip, and applied it to his little bare legs with much vigour. At this unexpected treatment Willie scrambled to his feet as fast as possible; and very soon he would ask, before beginning to thump his forehead, ‘Is you goin’ to vitch me with dat vitch;’ his mother replied, ‘Yes, I am;’ whereupon Willie calmly said, ‘Den I wont hit my head no more;’ so in about a week the headthumping was quite given up, but it took a much longer time to get rid of the ugly mark.

Poor little Willie got into dreadful trouble when he was about six years old, for sealing up his sister’s lips. They were both nicely dressed, and seated at the nursery table to wait till it was time to go down to dessert. The stupid old nurse gave them two pieces of sealing wax and some seals, to amuse themselves by sealing up imaginary letters. But Willie soon got tired of this quiet play, and when his wax was flaring away he popped it down upon his poor little sister’s red lips. She was looking at him in great admiration, with her pretty smiling face up-turned, when he suddenly dropped a quantity of blazing wax on her lips, and firmly pressed the seal down, saying, ‘You shat (chatter) too much, miss.’ Of course he had no idea of the anguish he was inflicting, and the poor child suffered almost as much as his victim, and seemed quite glad to be punished in expiation of his thoughtlessness.

I once knew two little brothers who were really fond of each other, but who used to quarrel most dreadfully. I must say it was chiefly the fault of the elder boy, who had no patience with his small brother Franky’s shortcomings. Franky was devoted to Cecil, and would run his messages for him, and wait upon him in the most dutiful way; but he never got any thanks for his little services. One day I was calling on their mamma, and she took me into the dining-room, to see a large and beautiful ship which had been just given to Cecil. It stood in a sort of wooden rest on the floor, and was certainly a very fine model of an old-fashioned frigate. There were her guns and her portholes to open and shut, every block and rope was right, and her sails and flags were something lovely to behold. The only thing which struck me as being wrong was her crew; they were little composition figures of sailors, very pretty to look at, but hugely out of proportion: fancy an A.B. seaman reaching half way up the mainmast! However, Cecil thought it all beautiful, and walked round and round his new treasure with the greatest pride and delight.

His mamma took advantage of his softened mood to say a word about being kind to poor little Franky, and showing it to him, which Cecil readily promised to do, when the door opened, and nurse led in Franky fresh from his mid-day sleep, in his pretty white frock and with cheeks as red as his ribbons. His large solemn eyes opened wide at the sight of this splendid man-of-war. He walked round it two or three times with many murmurs of admiration, for he could not speak plain; and suddenly, without the least warning, he sat down plump on the bowsprit, snapping it off close to the bows. Of course he toppled over, and came crash down on the back of his head, but, oh! what a wreck he made! So many ropes are fastened to the bowsprit, that when it is carried away in this sudden manner, the consequences are dreadful, and it is very difficult to repair such an accident. Cecil’s wrath was tremendous, and it certainly was enough to provoke a more patient little boy. He flew at his brother, (who was howling loudly) with both his fists doubled, and would no doubt have punished him severely, if nurse had not snatched up her darling in her arms, and carried him off; but Cecil could not be comforted for many a day.

You must not think they were always quarrelling, for they never were happy apart; and if one was in any trouble or difficulty, the other was wretched; for instance, Cecil once fastened himself into a room by accident; it was a long time before a locksmith could be brought to break open the door, and no ladder was long enough to reach to the window, so Cecil’s imprisonment was very tedious. All the time he was locked up Frank sat at his door trying to cheer and comfort his brother, refusing his own dinner. Every now and then he would say, ‘Never mind, Cis; I’m hungry too.’ And he looked quite faint and pale by the time Cecil was released; but when he took him into the dining-room, he would not touch food till Cecil had been helped and begun to eat. On another occasion when Cecil set himself on fire, and was very severely burnt, Franky kept making puffs at him as the poor child ran about in torture, thinking he could blow out the flames; and I heard him say afterwards, ‘I did try to blow him out, but the fire wouldn’t be blowed.’ He was such a dear little nurse to his brother all through the weeks of pain and suffering which followed this accident.

Frank was very anxious to be allowed to ride a certain donkey which was usually employed in drawing the mowing machine; but the donkey objected decidedly to being ridden when his day’s work was over, and always deposited Frank on the ground the moment he got into the road. Mr. Donkey walked sedately up to the gate of his favourite meadow, and then put his head down between his forelegs, hunched up his back—for it could hardly be called kicking—and soon got rid of poor little Frank, who, nothing daunted, scrambled on again to encounter the same fate directly. One day we met Frank a long distance from home, looking hot and dusty; he was walking along the high road leading the donkey by the rein. We immediately asked if he had been thrown oftener than usual, and why he was walking. He disdained to answer us, and turning with a little confidential smile to his mother said, ‘Well, you see, mother, he was trotting very nicely, and I got off to see how he was going!’ We all laughed at this reason a great deal, but Frank saw nothing amusing in it.

Frank and Cecil gave their mother a great fright one day. They were living in the country, and had a very quiet old pony which was used in the basket carriage. The boys begged that they might be allowed to ride this pony in a large field near the house. Now, as there was nothing whatever with which they could possibly hurt themselves in this field, they were permitted to do so; but, soon after they started, a great clatter and noise was heard in the porch; and, when the poor mamma went to find out what it could be, there was the pony without either of his riders, his reins broken, his saddle turned underneath him, and with a great cut on his side. He had evidently come to complain of the treatment he had received; but I fancy the mother thought more of her missing boys. At all events I know she rushed out, still followed by Mettle, and to her joy met both her troublesome treasures in the lane close to the house, safe and well, but nearly in as bad a plight as the pony: their clothes were torn and muddy, their hats off, and they were both crying bitterly. It seems that they were ‘playing at hunting,’ and, after several gallops round the field after a little terrier, who acted fox very well, the dog bolted through a hole in a high, quickset hedge, jumped the muddy ditch on the other side, and barked defiantly at them from the road. The ardour of the chase quite carried away the two small huntsmen, who put the pony at this big hedge, fully believing he could jump it; and Mettle must have thought so too, for he actually tried, landing of course in the middle of the thorns. The riders soon scrambled off, but alighted in the ditch. The pony was firmly fixed in the fence, and struggled a great deal before he could free himself, which he did at last at the expense of many scratches, and the loss of his stirrups and reins. It was not surprising to hear that he declined to be remounted, and set off home as fast as he could.

One day, and almost before their poor mother’s nerves had had time to recover this shock, she heard a tap at the drawing-room door, and on going to see who it could possibly be, she found Franky with a very pale face but an extraordinary polite manner, who said, ‘Oh mamma, dear, if you please I think I have put out Cecil’s eye!’ Was not that a pretty thing to hear? Poor Mrs. E—— flew off to the play-room to find Cecil crouching in the corner with the blood streaming from between his fingers, which were pressed to his right eye. At first she really thought his sight was injured, but it turned out fortunately that the deep cut had only gone very close to, but not actually into, the eye. Do you know how this happened? Through disobedience: they had climbed up to a high shelf and got down some foils (Papa will tell you what those are, and how dangerous to play with), and were fencing away in fine style. The silly boys had never put on the buttons which even grown-up people use when they fence; nor had they covered up their faces with the wire masks which were kept with the foils. It was a very narrow escape I assure you, and served as a severe lesson to both the children not to touch forbidden things.

And now that I have told you of so many scrapes which these boys fell into, it is only fair to tell you of something very nice about them. They were the most generous little fellows in the world, and were never so happy as when they could give a penny or a bun to a hungry child, or a toy to a sick one. I was spending a week with their mamma about Christmas-time one year, and a friend of hers chanced to call. Mrs. E—— asked where she had been staying, and this lady gave us a description of a charming home far away in the wilds of Yorkshire. Its inmates were a young clergyman and his wife, and a house full of children. She told us how rich they were in goodness, in love, in self-denial, in all that makes life beautiful and noble. She described the air of refinement over the simple house, the way the elder children helped their mother, and how all were busy and cheerful and happy. There was, however, no money to spare for toys or picture-books, and some of the younger ones had never possessed anything of the sort. We laughed at her account of a sixpenny harlequin having been sent to the house by some friend, when, after a reference to the nursery history it was solemnly announced by sister Edith, the second mother to the little flock, that it was ‘Polly’s turn to have the next new toy;’ so the harlequin was given to Polly, who rejoiced greatly over her first plaything. Cecil asked how old Polly was, and seemed quite shocked to hear she was actually five years old, and that there were three children below her, whose turn had not yet come for a toy! He retired to a corner with Franky and they held a long consultation, which resulted in their leaving the room with an air of great importance, saying to their mother, ‘Don’t want us, please mamma, for we are going to be very busy.’

And they were indeed busy, all that wintry afternoon, mending, sorting, and arranging, putting maps together to make sure that all the pieces were right, finding the bricks belonging to a large box, and at last they came to ask their mother to go with them to the play-room as they wanted her to ‘see something very particular.’ I went too, unasked, and there was quite a large heap of toys, balls, carts, and picture-books, all so neatly mended and in good order. By the table stood Cecil holding his brother’s hand and saying, ‘Me and Franky think we should like to send these to the children in Yorkshire, and do, please mamma, pack them up at once so that they may arrive on Christmas morning.’ Dear little fellows! how enchanted they were when Mrs. E. set to work at once, sent for a huge cake and a big box of barley sugar, and finally filled a large hamper with toys and Christmas cheer, which was sent off that same night to the distant parsonage, with messages of love and good will from Cecil and Franky to the unknown children who were so happy in spite of their independence of toys from a shop; and when a letter came back saying, in simple, graceful words, that the gifts had been received in the same spirit in which they were sent, and that the little flock had been made supremely happy by the sudden shower of presents, Cecil leant his head on his mother’s shoulder and whispered, ‘O mamma! isn’t it nice to make children _comfortable_?’ We all laughed so much at his idea of comfort.

But the pet boy of all my boy-friends lies sleeping far away on a sunny slope of the Himalaya Mountains, and the myrtles growing so luxuriantly over his grave are meant to tell of the love which all bore to the man who, even as a boy, was never guilty of a mean or a cruel action. My darling little unknown friends, do not think that, because you are only children, it does not matter what you do or say. That silent voice inside you, which men have agreed to call conscience, but which is really a spark from a Divine fire, will always tell you pretty loudly—when you stop and listen to it—whether the thing you either wish to do, or have done, is right or wrong, whether it is true or false, mean or generous. Above all, think to yourselves whenever you are going to hurt an animal: ‘Should I like a great giant to come and do this to me?’ And when the voice says, as it will, nine times out of ten, ‘No, you wouldn’t like it at all,’ then don’t do it. I have seen this pet boy of mine, though he was not at all quarrelsome, rush out into the street to defend a wretched draggled kitten which a big boy was torturing, getting of course well knocked about; but, as in the struggle the kitten escaped, Georgy did not mind a black eye in what he thought was a good cause. I need hardly tell you how much all animals loved and trusted him: a homeless dog never failed to follow him if it crossed his path, a restive horse became as gentle as a lamb under his care. You see I put Georgy’s behaviour to dumb creatures first in my sketch of his character. Do you know why I do so? It is because I have never known a boy who was wilfully cruel to animals, or careless of their comfort and well-being, grow up into such men as I should like you all to be. It is only a very little baby for whom we can make the excuse that it does not _mean_ to hurt pussy when it tweaks its fur; but I have actually seen a mother, and a very fond mother too, pull her baby’s fluffy hair to make it feel how it hurt a dog or a cat to have their hair grasped; and, after all, this practical teaching seemed to answer, for, long before her babies could speak, they quite understood that they were not to hurt any living thing which God has made. We know, both from the Old and New Testaments, how our Father which is in heaven takes real thought and care for His dumb creatures, for He condescended to make laws for their good, at the same time that He gave commandments to His chosen people; and you all know how our gentle loving Saviour taught us that His Father and ours cared for the sparrows on the housetop.

If a boy is thoughtful and good to animals he will probably be kind and considerate to his brothers and sisters; and then how happy they must all be together, and is it not wonderful to think that quite little children can help to make grown-up people comfortable by being patient and unselfish to each other? One of my pet boys used always to call that word ‘slefish,’ and his greatest blame of any thing or any one consisted in calling it ‘slefish.’ He quite understood what selfish meant, although he was not old enough to pronounce it properly. His name was Basil, and the great joke against him used to be that he never had any mind of his own, but required to be told by his favourite sister what he liked! For instance, at dinner he would say to her, confidentially, ‘Connie, do you think I shall like that pudding?’ and if Connie said yes, then when his turn to be helped arrived Basil said, ‘Yes if you please.’ I once knew of his having been discovered sitting on the steps dressed to go out for a walk, and on being asked what he waited for, Basil answered, ‘I’m only waiting for Connie to tell me whether I shall like to go to Highfield.’ Fortunately, at this moment, Connie appeared and assured him that he would like it very much; so they both set off as happy as possible. Basil and Connie are grown up now, and Basil has learnt to know what he likes for himself; but they are just as fond of each other as in the days when Connie was the queen of the nursery, and ruled her tiny subjects with a wand whose touch expressed as much love and gentleness as did that of the beautiful golden sceptre which King Ahasuerus held out to Queen Esther.

Now I think I shall tell you of a terrible scrape which one of my pet boys got into. Pray do not try to imitate him however, and he would be the last person to advise you to do so, for he retains to this day a lively recollection of the penalties which followed swiftly on the heels of what he and his schoolfellows thought was a very good joke indeed at the time. It happened a great many years ago at an old-fashioned school for boys; Dick was the name of the hero of the adventure, and I never could quite make out how he came to have the performance of the principal character thrust upon him, for he was a quiet, studious boy, with a great turn for invention. However that may be, or whoever was the first originator of the plan, it is certain that poor Dick had to bear the blame; but, in order to make you understand all about it, I must begin at the beginning of the plot, which arose from one of the big boys, who was very popular in the school, saying, that he wished the big school bell, which always sounded at unwelcome hours, was ‘at Jericho.’ Now it was not possible to send it quite so far away at a moment’s notice, and poor Dick, who chanced to be next Burrows Major when he made this new and original remark, said dreamily, pointing to a tall elm which stood in the playfield near the house, ‘What a lark it would be to fix it up there, at the very top of that tree!’ It did indeed seem fun; but there were serious difficulties in the way, for the tree was a very high one, and it was considered a great feat to climb up to the top, without being encumbered by a great bell, especially as its clapper was not one which could be taken out whilst the climbing was in progress, so every step was likely to be marked by a tremendous toll. Then, when once it was fixed up there, how was it to be rung at unseasonable hours? The most submissive fag could not be induced, by either bribes or threats, to climb up and ring it in the middle of a dark night. It was early spring, but a few days of sunshine had brought the leaves out thickly enough to afford some cover to the conspirators, and now the weather had changed to keen and cutting easterly winds. Dick promised to see what he could do, and spent several days in making little models of a machine very like a gallows, in which, however, the bell played the part of the culprit. At last he announced that ‘he thought he could do something;’ when Dick said as much as that, everybody knew it was a settled thing, so the next step was to elect a Bell Committee, and their first act was to open an account at the village shop for wire, string, blocks, and pulleys to the enormous sum of five shillings.

It was necessary to proceed with great caution, so as not to excite suspicion in the minds of the masters, and as it happened to be the time of year for bird-nesting, the frequent sight of Dick swarming up a big elm tree was not sufficiently uncommon to arouse any remark. It is perhaps just as well that I cannot give you a description of how Master Dick arranged his numerous lines, and wires, and pulleys; I can only tell you the result, which was that one cold night, when a bitter gale from the east was blowing, the servant whose duty it was to ring the bell for evening prayers returned to say that the bell could not be found anywhere. ‘Nonsense, man,’ said the portly Doctor; ‘the bell _must_ be there.’ Poor old John went out again in the cold porch to have another unsuccessful hunt after the bell, and to return with the same story. It was too late and too cold to continue the search, so there was nothing for it but to go to chapel without the bell, and the boys were afterwards marshalled into their dormitories with extra precautions. Their names were called over as they passed the masters at the doors and these latter remained to watch that each boy got quietly into bed. No boys could behave better that night; indeed they were suspiciously good, if one may use such an expression in speaking of young gentlemen. But the peace of the establishment was broken about midnight by a loud ‘Boom, boom, boom,’ from the elm tree. This unusual sound aroused the Doctor, who threw his window open letting in such an icy blast. There was no mistaking the clang of his own favourite bell; but how on earth did it get up into the sky, for that was where the sound proceeded from. ‘I see, you Smith,’ roared the Doctor, ‘you shall pay for this, sir, to-morrow;’ and he shouted for a monitor, who announced on his arrival that, whoever it might be, Smith was not the culprit, for he was snugly tucked into his bed. ‘Well, then, it must be Jones,’ shouted the enraged Doctor. ‘Jones, if you don’t come down directly and bring the bell also, it will go hard with you to-morrow.’ The monitor of No. 3. dormitory appeared to assure the Doctor that Jones’s snores were keeping all his neighbours awake.

In the meantime poor Mrs. Doctor was shivering with cold, and entreating her husband to shut the window and return to bed; but the old gentleman was too much enraged to listen to her; and every time the bell sounded, which it did frequently through the night, he jumped out of his warm bed, and flung up the window again calling out loudly, ‘I see you sir, come down directly.’ He thought it safer not to mention any names. The consequence of all this exposure to a biting east wind was, that when the boys assembled in the morning, they very nearly got a flogging all round for the broad grin which saluted the Doctor’s appearance with such a swollen face. It must be very difficult to look calm and dignified if you have one side of your face tremendously swelled and red and shining. This was the poor Doctor’s plight, and his efforts to conceal his suffering ought to have touched his pupils’ hearts. I daresay their titters and grins did not really arise from want of feeling, only boys are such sad creatures for laughing at the wrong time!

The first thing the Doctor did was to make a long speech to the boys, telling them (as if the young pickles did not know it already) of the loss of the bell and of its re-appearance at the top of the tree, and urging them to confess how they had managed it; but a stony silence was all he met with, and each boy’s countenance looked more hopelessly vacant than his neighbour’s. When play-hours came the whole school was kept in to write a line of Latin verse so many hundred times over. This had a very sobering effect on the young gentlemen, and even the Doctor’s expression of face at chapel with his head tied up in flannel could not raise a smile from the depressed conspirators. However, when midnight arrived, ‘Boom, boom, boom,’ went the bell, and it continued to sound at intervals through the night, but in a jerky and spasmodic manner, not the deep regular tones of the night before. After chapel the next morning the boys were called over before the Doctor, and, in spite of one of his eyes being now quite closed up, and his voice sounding as if he had plums in his mouth, his demeanour was so stern that the stoutest heart quailed. His address was short but very much to the purpose. He said that, if the bell was not brought down in broad daylight and restored to its proper place by twelve o’clock, the whole school should be flogged, and all half holidays stopped for the remainder of the term. He gave them half an hour to decide, and full liberty to discuss the subject in the schoolroom without the presence of the masters. The moment he had finished his little speech, he got up and left the room, followed by all the masters and the monitors. I need hardly tell you how stormy was the debate which followed, or how soon it became evident that the funny side of the story was over for the present. Poor quiet old Dick saw the situation at once, shrugged his shoulders, and merely observing ‘I’m in for a good ‘un,’ was deep in a few minutes in some fresh invention, the model of which he took out of his pocket and began to examine. At first the general feeling was, that, as Dick had not originated it he should not bear the punishment; but Dick himself scouted the idea of being let off, and was the first to walk boldly into the Doctor’s study, and with a noble disregard of grammar, which even at that exciting moment made the Doctor wince, say, ‘Please sir, it’s me.’ ‘Me will catch it then,’ was the Doctor’s grim answer; and poor ‘me’ did catch it, and so did everyone concerned in the exploit in the remotest way. The boys declared that Mrs. Doctor was the most venomous of the two, and that it was she who stirred up her portly husband to go down to the village shop and blow up its mistress in no measured terms; but the woman’s sharp tongue could not keep silence very long, and she actually stormed at the Doctor in return till he was glad to get out of the shop.

Do you know there is one rather solemn-looking gentleman of my acquaintance whom I never can see without laughing. I am sure he must sometimes wonder why I should always appear amused when I shake hands with him, particularly if he happens to have his pretty, young-looking mother leaning on his arm. I dare not tell _him_ why I laugh, but I will tell you, in strict confidence, remember!

One day, when this Mr. F. was a small boy, he was locked up in his mother’s bedroom, there to repent of his transgressions in general, and of some recent offence in particular. Now it was a half holiday, and there was a delightful excursion to the woods in prospect. All the other children were wild with delight about it, for they were to have tea in gipsy fashion, with a fire out of doors, and all sorts of pleasant things; but an edict had gone forth that, until Mr., or rather Master, F. had repented of his fault and apologised, he was not to be allowed to go in the spring-cart to the place of meeting. The hours were passing away, and his mother was very uneasy lest her pet boy should be deprived of his share of the afternoon’s fun, so she thought she would try what her gentle persuasions would do towards softening his heart. I must explain to you that there was a sort of partition off this bedroom, and a glass door in it which did not fit very well, consequently there was a gap of a couple of inches between the floor and the bottom of the door. Mrs. F went close up to this, and began to expostulate through the chink at the side with her naughty darling. There was quite a little audience at her back, composed of the other children, who were eagerly listening for any signs of contrition on the part of the prisoner; and it caused great dismay when mamma turned her head round to the young ones and said, ‘I’m afraid he is not good yet.’ ‘Tell him to put the naughty pinnit (spirit) up the chimbley,’ suggested a tiny brother, who disposed of his little evil tempers very successfully in this way. Mrs. F. drew still closer to the door, and began a fresh entreaty to the culprit to make up his mind to confess and beg pardon; but at the most touching part of her discourse she suddenly jumped back upon her little listeners with a loud shriek of pain, and caught up one of her feet with many groans, hopping about on the other. What do you think this dreadful boy had done? He had found a hammer in the room, and when he saw his mother’s toes sticking out under the door, he had deliberately knelt down and hammered them!

I need hardly tell you that there was no gipsy tea for Master F. that evening, and I believe he was afterwards very sorry for his conduct; but it is not surprising that, whenever the recollection of this story comes over me, I should feel inclined to laugh. Sometimes I see Mr. F. taking great care of his mother at supper, getting her nice things to eat, wrapping her carefully up in her shawl when she is going away from a party, and so on; but instead of admiring his dutiful devotion to her, this unfortunate piece of naughtiness recurs to my memory, and I cannot help smiling at the wrong time; so you see it is very dangerous to do naughty things, even when you are quite little, for people are apt to remember them in after years.

‘_EDINBURGH CASTLE._’

This ‘Edinburgh Castle’ is not a castle at all in the first place, nor is it in Scotland! It is only a little mud hut on a hill, in the middle of a thick forest, in that beautiful island of Jamaica, about which I have already told you so many stories; but I did not like to mix up this shocking tale with the account of all our pets, so I have given it a separate chapter to itself. If you want to know more about it you will find it mentioned in a book called ‘Brydges’ Annals of Jamaica;’ but I was standing on the spot where it all happened, when I heard the story from my father’s lips. He, Jessie, and I had ridden for miles through the clearings in this forest; and I can hardly make you understand how delightful such an excursion is on a summer’s afternoon in these high uplands of Jamaica. Instead of the burning heat and hot air, which is called a breeze down in the plains, we had the most delicious fresh atmosphere; and, as we rode along under the shade of the tall mahogany and cedar trees, Jessie and I were never weary of admiring the beautiful creepers hanging in festoons from branch to branch; great blossoms of cacti, with brilliant gauzy-winged flies going busily in and out among the thick tassels which form the centre of the flower; orchids of every kind and description growing on the decayed timber, and making the shabby old trees more beautiful than the strong young ones; convolvuli of bright and delicate colour; slender tendrils laden with the sweet-scented blossom of the passion flower hanging down on our heads. Through all these lovely sights and sounds we rode, gaily talking and laughing, Jessie setting all the mocking-birds nearly wild by breaking out into snatches of song; and no sooner had one bird answered her, and the others begun to take up the chorus, than she would change her tune; then such an indignant chirruping and calling and whistling ensued, as much as to say, ‘Now, that is not fair, one song at a time;’ until Papa said, ‘O Jessie, do leave those birds alone; I never heard such a row. So, after that, we went on more quietly, and at last the track we followed led us to a clearing, and on our right was a little hillock with a tumble-down hut on it; but what attracted our attention were some large grey rocks around the hovel, which at a short distance had exactly the effect of the battlements of a castle. We both exclaimed at once, ‘How like an old castle! Who lived there?’ And then Papa said, ‘Have you never heard the story about this place?’ Jessie and I were quite as fond of stories in those days as you can possibly be, so we edged our ponies quite close to Papa’s horse, and listened eagerly whilst he told us this tale; and I remember so well, as he went on with it, how all the warmth and glow and beauty seemed to fade out of that summer evening, and it appeared to turn damp and chilly; all the tropical luxuriance changed with our changed mood into dank overgrowth; and even Jessie’s smiles and songs died away into a hushed, breathless silence.

About fifty or sixty years ago, a man calling himself Hutchinson appeared in this part of the country, and, after looking about him a little, finally selected this forest in which to buy a section of land; I think Papa said a hundred acres. Now it was very unusual to do such a thing in Jamaica where people generally have large sugar estates or grazing farms, and the land which Mr. Hutchinson bought was quite unfit for either of these purposes. However he gave no reason for his choice, but proceeded to cut down some trees, and to pile up all the available stones and rocks into the shape of rough battlements. When they were arranged to his satisfaction he built himself a small hut with a stable and outhouse, kitchen, &c. All that he did was extremely methodical, and, when finished, his new home looked perfectly comfortable and weather-tight. A few creepers against the cottage soon made it pretty, and his ‘provision ground,’ as the negroes call a kitchen garden, looked very picturesque with the yams climbing like hops over their tall poles, and the broad velvety leaves of his cocoa and arrowroot plants. His establishment consisted of one old negro slave, who appeared dreadfully afraid of his master. This was the more surprising, as Mr. Hutchinson’s manners were gentlemanlike and quiet, with no trace of ill temper on the surface. Inside the house, or rather cottage, everything showed signs of refinement. There were only two rooms, and visitors saw but one, which was used as a sitting-room, and contained books, mathematical instruments, a few curious weapons, and several specimens of birds and animals; but the most conspicuous object in it was a large telescope on a stand, placed so as to command the road through the forest. This road was really only a bridle path, but it was much used as a short cut from one part of the island to the other, and, though, seldom travelled by the negroes, often proved a great convenience to some gentlemen who wanted to get quickly across the country.

Nothing is more amusing to a new comer in most English colonies than the fine names the settlers give their places. I have known so many rough enclosures of a mere common or heath called after grand parks and castles in England, that the name ‘Edinburgh Castle,’ which Mr. Hutchinson gave to his little mud hut with its rude parapet, did not seem half so absurd to me as it probably does to you. At all events it soon became known by that name; and as Mr. Hutchinson was very hospitable and friendly, passers-by began to look upon it as a matter of course that they should call in at the castle and have a glass of sangaree (do you know what that is? A drink made of madeira and rum, lemons, and all sorts of things) with its master, leaving him perhaps the last English newspaper, and telling him whatever little local gossip they could collect. But in the course of a few months three things began to be noticed and talked of: first, Mr. Hutchinson _never_ left home, in spite of many invitations to pay a visit to his neighbours. At whatever hour of the day or night a traveller called, he was quite sure to find him in his house always glad to see him and apparently expecting a visitor. Then Mr. Hutchinson always betrayed great anxiety about the hour, which seemed rather odd in a person who had apparently nothing to do and nowhere to go. Another remarkable thing was the abject terror of the old negro. He would come to the door to hold the guest’s horse, shaking all over, and he could seldom refrain from some little speech which sounded inhospitable, such as, ‘It berry fine day now; mas’r best push on, plenty rain come ‘bout evening.’ People began to notice that if they said to Mr. Hutchinson anything about his servant not appearing glad to see them, or willing that they should dismount, a strange dark look would come over his face, and he tried to laugh off the idea, or to change the subject; but it was quite certain that poor old Pompey took much more pleasure in obeying the injunction to ‘speed the parting guest’ than he did in welcoming the new comer. The most extraordinary thing of all was that Mr. Hutchinson’s guests occasionally disappeared! A gentleman would leave an estate on one side of the great forest with the intention of riding through it, calling in of course at ‘Edinburgh Castle’ on his way, but it turned out afterwards that he seldom got beyond that point. There were no police in those old days of slavery, and very little communication between places; so months passed before any one could be quite certain that a traveller was really missing, and then it was hopeless to attempt to trace him. Everybody agreed, that although Mr. Hutchinson was an odd sort of man, and that it was very queer of him to live in such a place, still he was the ‘best fellow in the world,’ and very clever and well educated.