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who had left, and what new boys had come, who had got who's study, and where the new præpostors slept. However, Tom consoled himself with thinking that he couldn't have done all this with the new boy at his heels, and so marched off along the passages to the doctor's private house with his young charge in tow, in monstrous good-humor with himself and all the world. It is needless, and would be impertinent, to tell how the two young boys were received in that drawing-room. The lady who presided there is still living, and has carried with her to her peaceful home in the north the respect and love of all those who ever felt and shared that gentle and high-bred hospitality. Ay, many is the brave heart now doing its work and bearing its load in country curacies, London chambers, under the Indian sun, and in Australian towns and clearings, which looks back with fond and grateful memory to that school-house drawing-room, and dates much of its highest and best training to the lessons learned there.

Besides Mrs. Arnold, and one or two of the elder children, there were one of the younger masters, young Brooke, who was now in the sixth, and had succeeded to his brother's position and influence, and another sixth-form boy there, talking together before the fire. The master and young Brooke, now a great strapping fellow six feet high, eighteen years old, and powerful as a coal-heaver, nodded kindly to Tom, to his intense glory, and then went on talking; the other did not notice them. The hostess, after a few kind words, which led the boys at once and insensibly to feel at their ease, to begin talk-❘ ing to one another, left them with her own children while she finished a letter. The young ones got on fast and well, Tom holding out about a prodigious pony he had been riding out, and hearing stories of the winter glories of the lakes, when tea came in, and immediately after the doctor himself.

How frank, and kind, and manly, was his greeting to the party by the fire; it did Tom's heart good to see him and young Brooke shake hands, and look one another in the face; and he didn't fail to remark that Brooke was nearly as tall, and quite as broad, as the doctor. And his cup was full, when, in another moment, his master turned to him with another warm shake of the hand, and, seemingly oblivious of all

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the late scrapes which he had been getung into, said, "Ah, Brown, you here! I hope you left your father and all well at home." "Yes, sir, quite well."

"And this is the little fellow who is to share your study? Well, he doesn't look as we should like to see him. He wants some Rugby air and cricket. And you must take him some good long walks-to Bilton Grange, and Caldecott's Spinneyand show him what pretty country we have about here."

Tom wondered if the doctor knew that his visits to Bilton Grange were for the purpose of taking rooks' nests, (a proceeding strongly discountenanced by the owner thereof,) and those to Caldecott's Spinney were prompted chiefly by the conveniences for setting night-lines. What, didn't the doctor know? And what a noble use he always made of it. He almost resolved to abjure rook-pies and night-lines forever. The tea went merrily off, the doctor now talking of holiday doings, and then of the prospects of the half year, what chance there was for the Baliol scholarship, whether the eleven would be a good one. Everybody was at his ease, and everybody felt that he, young as he might be, was of some use in the little school world, and had a work to do there. Soon after tea the doctor went off to his study, and the young boys a few minutes afterward took their leave, and went out of the private door which led from the doctor's house into the middle passage.

At the fire, at the further end of the passage, was a crowd of boys in loud talk and laughter. There was a sudden pause when the door opened, and then a great shout of greeting, as Tom was recognized marching down the passage.

"Halloa, Brown, where do you come from?"

"O, I've been to tea with the doctor," says Tom, with great dignity.

"My eye," cried East. "O! so that's why Mary called you back, and you didn't come to supper. You lost somethingthat beef and pickles was no end good."

"I say, young fellow," cried Hall, detecting Arthur, and catching him by the collar, "what's your name? Where do you come from? How old are you?"

Tom saw Arthur shrink back and look scared as all the group turned to him, but thought it best to let him answer, standing by his side to support in case of need.

"Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire." "Don't call me 'sir,' you young muff. How old are you?" "Thirteen."

"Can you sing?"

The poor boy was trembling and hesitating. Tom struck in, "You be hanged, Tadpole. He'll have to sing, whether he can or not, Saturday twelve weeks, and that's long enough off yet."

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"Do you know him at home, Brown?" No, but he's my chum in Gray's old study, and it's near prayer time, and I haven't had a look at it yet. Come along, Arthur."

Away went the two, Tom longing to get his charge safe under cover, where he might advise him on his deportment.

"What a queer chum for Tom Brown," was the comment at the fire; and it must be confessed so thought Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, and surveyed the new green baize curtains, and the carpet and sofa, with much satisfaction.

"I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is, to make us so cosy. But look here now; you must answer straight up when the fellows speak to you, and don't be afraid. If you're afraid, you'll get bullied. And don't you say you can sing; and don't you ever talk about home, or your mother and sisters."

Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry. "But please," said he, "mayn't I talk about-about home to you?"

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"O yes, I like it. But don't talk to boys you don't know; they'll call you home-sick, or mamma's darling, or some such stuff. What a jolly desk! Is that yours? And what stunning binding! Why, your school-books look like novels."

Tom was soon deep in Arthur's goods and chattels, all new and good enough for a fifth-form boy, and hardly thought of his friends outside, till the prayer-bell rung.

The school-house prayers were the same on this the first night as on the other nights, save for the gaps caused by the absence of those boys who came late, and the line of new boys who stood all together at the further table, of all sorts and sizes, like young bears, with all their troubles to come, as Tom's father had said to him when he was in the same position. He thought of it as he looked at the line, and poor, little, slight Arthur, standing with them, and as he was leading him up-stairs to Number 4, directly after prayers, and showing him

his bed. It was a huge, high, airy room, with two large windows looking on to the school close. There were twelve beds in the room. The one in the furthest corner

by the fireplace occupied by the sixth-form boy, who was responsible for the discipline of the room.

Within a few minutes of their entry, all the other boys who slept in Number 4 had come up. The little fellows went quietly to their own beds, and began undressing and talking to one another in whispers ; while the elder, among whom was Tom, sat chatting about on one another's beds, with their jackets and waistcoats off. Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of his position. The idea of sleeping in the room with strange boys had clearly never crossed his mind before, and was as painful as it was strange to him. He could hardly bear to take his jacket off; however, presently with an effort off it came, and then he paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting at the bottom of his bed talking and laughing.

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'Please, Brown," he whispered, "may I wash my face and hands ?"

"Of course, if you like," said Tom, staring; "that's your wash-hand-stand under the window, second from your bed. You'll have to go down for more water in the morning, if you use it all." And on he went with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds out to his wash-hand-stand, and began his ablutions, thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention of the room.

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his washing and undressing, and put on his night-gown. He then looked round more nervously than ever. Two or three of the little boys were already in bed, sitting up with their chins on their knees. The light burned clear, the noise went on. It was a trying moment for the poor little lonely boy; however, this time he didn't ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped on his knees by his bedside, as he had done every day from his childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareth the sorrows of the tender child and the strong man in agony.

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, so that his back was toward Arthur, and he didn't see what had happened, and looked up in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed and sneered, and a big brutal fel

low, who was standing in the middle of the room, picked up a slipper, and shied it at the kneeling boy, calling him a sniveling young shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment the boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, who had just time to throw up his arm and catch it on his elbow. "Confound you, Brown; what's that for?" roared he, stamping with pain.

"Never mind what I mean," said Tom, stepping on the floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling; "if any fellow wants the other boot, he knows how to get it."

What would have been the result is doubtful, for at this moment the sixthform boy came in, and not another word could be said. Tom and the rest rushed into bed, and finished unrobing there, and the old verger, as punctual as the clock, had put out the candle in another minute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting the door with his usual “Good-night, genl'm'n." | There were many boys in the room by whom that little scene was taken to heart before they slept. But sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of poor Tom. For some time his excitement, and the flood of memories which chased one another through his brain, kept him from thinking or resolving. His head throbbed, his heart leaped, and he could hardly keep himself from springing out of bed and rushing about the room. Then the thought of his own mother came across him, and the promise he had made at her knee, years ago, never to forget to kneel by his bedside, and give himself up to his Father, before he laid his head on the pillow, from which it might never rise; and he lay down gently, and cried as if his heart would break. He was only fourteen years old.

It was no light act of courage in those days for a little fellow to say his prayers publicly, even at Rugby. A few years later, when Arnold's manly piety had begun to leaven the school, the tables turned; before he died, in the school-house at least, and I believe in the other houses, the rule was the other way. But poor Tom had come to school in other times. The first few nights after he came, he did not kneel down because of the noise, but sat up in bed till the candle was out, and then stole out and said his prayers, in fear lest some one should find him out. So did many another poor fellow. Then he began to

think that he might just as well say his prayers in bed, and then that it didn't matter whether he was kneeling, or sitting, or lying down. And so it had come to pass with Tom, as with all who will not confess their Lord before men; and for the last year he had probably not said his prayers in earnest a dozen times.

Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling, which was like to break his heart, was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of all others which he loathed was brought in and burned in on his own soul. He had lied to his mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? And then the poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied and almost scorned for his weakness, had done that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do. The first dawn of comfort came to him in saying to himself that he would stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him, and help him, and bear his burdens, for the good deed done that night. Then he resolved to write home next day and tell his mother all, and what a coward her son had been. And then peace came to him as he resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony next morning. The morning would be harder than the night to begin with, but he felt that he could not afford to let one chance slip. Several times he faltered, for the devil showed him, first, all his friends calling him "Saint" and "Square-toes," and a dozen hard names, and whispered to him that his motives would be misunderstood, and he would only be left alone with the new boy; whereas it was his duty to keep all means of influence, that he might do good to the largest number. And then came the more subtle temptation, “Shall I not be showing myself braver than others by doing this? Have I any right to begin it now? Ought I not rather to pray in my own study, letting other boys know that I do so, and trying to lead them to it, while in public at least I should go on as I have done?" However, his good angel was too strong that night, and he turned on his side and slept, tired of trying to reason, but resolved to follow the impulse which had been so strong, and in which he had found peace.

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his jacket and waistcoat, just as the ten minutes' bell began to ring, and then in the face of the whole room he knelt down to pray. Not five

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words could he say-the bell mocked him ; he was listening for every whisper in the room-what were they all thinking of him? He was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees. At last, as it were from his inmost heart, a still small voice seemed to breathe forth the words of the publican, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" He repeated them over and over, clinging to them as for his life, and rose from his knees comforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole world. It was not needed: two other boys besides Arthur had already followed his example, and he went down to the great school with a glimmering of another lesson in his heart-the lesson that he who has conquered his own coward spirit has conquered the whole outward world; and that other one which the old prophet learned in the cave in Mount Horeb, when he hid his face, and the still small voice asked, "What doest thou here, Elijah?" that, however we may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the King and Lord of men is nowhere without his witnesses; for in every society, however seemingly corrupt and godless, there are those who have not bowed the knee to Baal.

He found, too, how greatly he had exaggerated the effect to be produced by his act.

For a few nights there was a sneer or a laugh when he knelt down; but this passed off soon, and one by one all the other boys but three or four followed the lead. I fear that this was in some measure owing to the fact, that Tom could probably have thrashed any boy in the room except the præpostor; at any rate, everybody knew that he would try upon very slight provocation, and didn't choose to run the risk of a hard fight because Tom Brown had taken a fancy to say his prayers. Some of the small boys of Number 4 communicated the new state of things to their chums, and in several other rooms the poor little fellows tried it on; in one instance or so, where the præpostor heard of it and interfered very decidedly, with partial success; but in the rest, after a short struggle, the confessors were bullied or laughed down, and the old state of things went on for some time longer. Before either Tom Brown or Arthur left the school, there was no room in which it had not become the regular custom. I trust it is so still, and that the old heathen state of things has gone out forever.

A CHAPTER ON NATURAL HISTORY.

A

THE HEDGEHOG.

MONG the ancient Egyptians, and in the Greek and Roman fabulists, the Hedgehog was the emblem of craft and subtlety. Elian has much to tell us about his warfare with the foxes, and Aldrorandus devotes many pages to the proverbs and symbolism connected with him. In the rural districts of our own country he is the subject of many curious superstitions, which cause him to be remorselessly killed wherever he shows himself. His old English name, urchin, was also one of the popular names of the elves, many of whose attributes were believed to resemble his. The fairies sucked cows as they slept, and so did the hedgehog, and, like them also, he took especial delight in pillaging orchards. Pliny, indeed, informs us that he climbs up the trees, and after shaking off the choicest apples and pears, tumbles himself down upon them, and runs away with his booty sticking upon his back! but this is either one of Pliny's longshots, or the idiosyncrasy of some individual Tuscan, for at any rate it is not the custom of the English species. To hear his cry when one is starting on a journey, is reckoned very unlucky. "The hedgepig thrice hath whined" is one of the dismal omens which herald in the caldron-scene in Macbeth; and Prospero's spirits, it will be remembered, turned into hedgehogs to annoy Caliban. A little animal possessing such very negative means of defense would seem to be harmless and pitiable; but, according to our rustics, he is the most astute creature in all creation, not excepting even the fox. The peasantry of Berkshire have a legend about him, in which Reynard plays but a poor figure. A fox and a hedgehog, they say, once disputed which of them was the swifter animal, and agreed to run a race of three heats between two ditches in a large field. The hedgehog, like a cunning old knave as he was, hid his wife in the ditch which was to form the goal, so that when he had made a pretense of starting she might jump out, and pretend to be himself just arrived. No sooner had the fox cried "Off!" than Mrs. Hedgehog cried "In!" and directly she had in her turn made a false start back, old Thorney-sides leaped out and said, "In again!" So after three desper

ate runs, the broken-winded fox, which never perceived the ruse, was compelled to yield, and ever since that day the hedgehog has been his master.

The hedgehog usually takes up his residence in woods or wide double hedgerows, where he can hide away beneath the underwood; but he is perhaps fondest of a little thicket of fern and bracken near a running stream. The best time to meet with him is on a summer evening soon after sunset, for he is then just roused from his day-sleep, and walks out to look after food. You may often see him stealthily creeping along a hedge-bottom, rooting with his long snout among the herbage, and every now and then stopping to craunch, with extra gusto, some delicious bonne bouche in the shape of a savory cockroach or plump earthworm. The moment he sees you he begins to run; but his awkward legs are not meant for fleetness; and directly he sees there is no chance of escape, he tumbles upon his side, bows his head under his breast, draws in his legs and tail, and in half a second lies at your mercy, a ball of prickles. While in this position it would be as easy to tear him to pieces as to pull him open; he resists every effort, and possesses, moreover, a power of elevating and depressing his spines at will, which makes the attempt far from pleasant. So great is the strength and toughness of this covering, that Mr. Bell states he has seen a hedgehog in his possession run toward the precipitous wall of an area, and without a moment's hesitation throw itself off, contracting at the same instant into a ball, in which condition it reached the ground from a height of twelve or fourteen feet, and after a short interval it would unfold itself, and run off unhurt.

For his size the hedgehog is immensely fierce. He is a great gourmand, and will face almost any danger to please his palate. They are often known to enter poultry-houses, and after driving away the hens, devour the eggs. The young of birds which build their nests near the ground, are eaten by them, and they even attack the snake. This latter fact was often doubted till Professor Buckland put it to the test by shutting up the two animals together in a large box. When first introduced it was not apparent whether the snake recognized his enemy. It did not dart away, but kept creeping gently

round the box while the hedgehog lay rolled up and did not appear to see the intruder. The professor then lay the hedgehog on the snake, with that part of the ball where the head and tail meet downward, and touching it. The snake proceeded to crawl; the hedgehog started, opened slightly, and seeing what was under, gave the snake a hard bite, and instantly rolled itself up again. After lying a minute it opened a second, and again a third time, repeating the bite; and by the third bite the back of the snake was broken. This done, the hedgehog stood by the snake's side, and passed its whole body successively through its jaws, cracking and breaking it at intervals of half an inch or more, by which operation the snake was quite finished. The hedgehog then placed itself at the tip of his fallen enemy's tail, and began to eat upward, as one would eat a raddish, slowly, but without intermission, till half of him was devoured, and next morning he ate the remainder.

There is another peculiarity about the hedgehog which is very little known, but, if properly investigated, seems likely to lead to valuable discoveries. No poison of any kind will act upon its system. Pallas gave one a hundred cantharides, which the animal appeared to relish amazingly; while half of one of these acrid insects given to a dog or cat would cause the most horrible torment.

The home of a hedgehog is a curious little structure of moss and dried leaves, and is generally constructed with greater skill than that of any other of the nestmaking mammalia. Sometimes he builds it under the shade of a thick furze-bush, or oftener still in the little caves hollowed out by the rain

"Under an oak whose antique root peeps out;

and this, perhaps, is his favorite den, as it affords him the most protection from the foxes and dogs. The care he takes in rendering his dwelling wind and rain proof, has given rise to a popular notion that he is able to foresee changes in the weather, and alters the situation of his house accordingly; hence, in many parts of England, a hedgehog's nest is looked upon as a kind of Murphy's Almanac, altogether infallible. Bodenham, in his Garden of the Muses, published in 1600, alludes to this idea in the simile:

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