Book: Louis\' School Days

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LOUIS' SCHOOL DAYS,


A STORY FOR BOYS.

By E. J. May


[Illustration: Louis and Meredith on Brandon Hill. Page 76.]


NEW-YORK:
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY.
1852.







PREFACE.


It was originally my intention to leave the child of my imagination
to make its way where it would, without any letter of introduction in
the form of the usual prefatory address to the reader; but having been
assured that a preface is indispensable, I am laid under the necessity
of formally giving a little insight into the character of the possible
inmate of many a happy home.

Reader, the following pages claim no interest on the score of
authenticity. They are no fiction _founded on facts_. They profess
to be nothing but fiction, used as a vehicle for illustrating certain
broad and fundamental truths in our holy religion.

It has often struck me, in recalling religious stories (to which I
acknowledge myself much indebted), that many of them fell into an error
which might have the effect of confusing the mind of a thinking child,
namely, that of drawing a perfect character as soon as the soul has
laid hold of Christ, without any mention of those struggles through
which the Christian must pass, in order to preserve a holy consistency
before men. This would seem to exclude the necessity of maintaining
a _warfare_.

The doctrine I have endeavored to maintain in the following pages is,
that man being born in "sin, a child of wrath," has, by nature, all his
affections estranged from God; that, when by grace, through faith in
Christ, a new life has been implanted within him, his affections are
restored to their rightful Lord, every thought and imagination is
brought into captivity to the obedience of Christ; and his whole being
longs to praise Him who has called him "out of darkness into light"--to
praise Him "not only with his lips, but in his life." Then commences the
struggle between light and darkness, between the flesh and the spirit,
between the old and new man; and the results of this conflict are seen
in the outward conduct of the Christian soldier.

The character of the child of God does not essentially alter, but a
new impulse is given him. Whatever good quality was in his natural
state conspicuous in him, will, in a state of grace and newness of
life, shine forth with double lustre; and he will find his besetting
sin his greatest hindrance in pressing forward to the attainment of
personal holiness. The great wide difference is, that he _desires_ to
be holy, and the Lord, who gives him this desire, gives him also the
strength to overcome his natural mind; and the more closely he waits
on his heavenly Father for His promised aid, the more holily and
consistently he will walk; and when, through the deceits of his heart,
the allurements of the world, or the temptations of Satan, he relaxes
his vigilance, and draws less largely from the fountain of his strength,
a sad falling away is the inevitable consequence. This warfare, this
danger of backsliding, ends only with the life, when, and when _only_,
he will be perfect, for he shall be like his Saviour.

As a writer for the young, I dare not plead even the humble pretensions
of my little volume in deprecation of the criticism which ought to be the
lot of every work professing to instruct others. In choosing the arena
of a boy's school for the scene of my hero's actions, I have necessarily
been compelled to introduce many incidents and phrases to which, perhaps,
some very scrupulous critics might object as out of place in a religious
work; but my readers will do well to recollect, that to be useful, a
story must be attractive, and to be attractive, it must be natural; and
I trust that they who candidly examine mine will find nothing therein
that can produce a wrong impression. It has not been without an anxious
sense of the great responsibility dependent on me in my present capacity,
that this little effort has been made. Should it be the instrument of
strengthening in one young one the best lessons he has received, it will,
indeed, not have been in vain. To the service of Him who is the strength
and help of all His people, it is dedicated.

"Be Thou alone exalted:
If there's a thought of favor placed on me--
THINE be it all!
Forgive its evil and accept its good--
I cast it at Thy feet."

E.J.M.




CHAPTER I.


Doleful were the accounts received from time to time of Louis Mortimer's
life with his tutor at Dashwood Rectory; and, if implicit credence might
be yielded to them, it would be supposed that no poor mortal was ever so
persecuted by Latin verses, early rising, and difficult problems, as our
hero. His eldest brother, to whom these pathetic relations were made,
failed not to stimulate him with exciting passages of school life--and
these, at last, had the desired effect, drawing from Louis the following
epistle:


"My dear Reginald,

"Your letter was as welcome as usual. You cannot imagine what
a treat it is to hear from you. Mr. Phillips is kind, but so
very different from dear Mr. Daunton. What I dislike most is,
that he says so often, 'What _did_ Mr. Daunton teach you? I
never saw a boy so ignorant in my life!' I do not care how
much he says of me, but I cannot bear to hear him accuse dear
Mr. Daunton of not teaching me properly. I believe I am really
idle often, but sometimes, when I try most, it seems to give
least satisfaction. The other day I was busy two hours at
some Latin verses, and I took so much pains with them--I had
written an 'Ode to the Rising Sun,' and felt quite interested,
and thought Mr. Phillips would be pleased; but when I took it
to him, he just looked at it, and taking a pen dashed out word
after word, and said, so disagreeably, 'Shocking! Shocking,
Louis! Disgraceful, after all that I said yesterday--the pains
that I took with you,' 'Indeed, sir,' I said, 'I tried a great
deal,' 'Fine ideas! fine ideas! no doubt,' he said, 'but I have
told you dozens of times that I do not want _ideas_--I want
_feet_.' I wish those same feet would run away to Clifton with
me, Reginald; I hope I have not been saying any thing wrong
about Mr. Phillips--I should be very sorry to do so, for he
is very kind in his way: he tells me I do not know what I am
wishing for, and that school will not suit me, and a great deal
about my having to fag much harder and getting into disgrace;
but never mind, I should like to make the experiment, for I
shall be with you; and, dear as Dashwood is, it is _so_ dull
without papa and mamma--I can hardly bear to go into the
Priory now they are away. I seem to want Freddy's baby-voice
in the nursery; and sober Neville and Mary are quite a part
of home--how long it seems since I saw them! Well, I hope I
shall come to you at Easter. Do you not wish it were here?
I had a nice letter from mamma yesterday--she was at Florence
when she wrote, and is getting quite strong, and so is little
Mary. I have now no more time; mamma said papa had written
to you, or I would have told you all the news. I wanted to
tell you very much how our pigeons are, and the rabbits, and
Mary's hen, which I shall give in Mrs. Colthrop's care when
I leave Dashwood. But good bye, in a great hurry. With much
love, I remain your very affectionate brother,

"LOUIS FRANCIS MORTIMER.

"P.S. Do you remember cousin Vernon's laughing at
our embrace at Heronhurst? I wonder when I shall have
another--I am longing so to see you."


It would not concern my readers much were I to describe the precise
locality of the renowned Dr. Wilkinson's establishment for young
gentlemen--suffice it to say, that somewhere near Durdham Down,
within a short walk of Clifton, stood Ashfield House, a large
rambling building, part of which looked gray and timeworn when
compared with the modern school-room, and sundry dormitories, that
had been added at different periods as the school grew out of its
original domains. Attached to the house was a considerable extent
of park land, which was constituted the general play-ground.

At the time of which I am writing, Dr. Wilkinson's school consisted
of nearly eighty pupils, all of whom were boarders, and who were
sent from different parts of the kingdom; for the doctor's fame, as
an excellent man, and what, in the eyes of some was even a greater
recommendation, as a first-rate classical scholar, was spread far and
wide. At the door of this house, one fine April day, Louis presented
himself; and, after descending from the vehicle which brought him from
Bristol, followed the servant into the doctor's dining-room, where we
will leave him in solitary grandeur, or, more correctly speaking,
in agitating expectation, while we take a peep at the room on the
opposite side of the hall. In this, Dr. Wilkinson was giving audience
to a gentleman who had brought back his little boy a few minutes before
Louis arrived. Having some private business to transact, the child was
sent to the school-room, and then Mr. Percy entered into a discussion
respecting the capabilities of his son, and many other particulars,
which, however interesting to himself, would fail of being so to us.

At length these topics were exhausted, and it seemed nearly decided
how much was to be done or discontinued in Master Percy's education.
Mr. Percy paused to consider if any thing were left unsaid.

"Oh! by the by, Dr. Wilkinson," he said, letting fall the pencil with
which he had been tapping the table during his cogitations, "you have
one of Sir George Vernon's grandsons with you, I believe?"

"Two of them," replied the doctor.

"Ah! indeed, I mean young Mortimer, son of Mr. Mortimer of Dashwood."

"I have his eldest son, and am expecting another to-day."

"Then it was your expected pupil that I saw this morning,"
said Mr. Percy.

"May I ask where?" said the doctor.

"At the White Lion. He came down by the London coach. I saw his trunk,
in the first place, addressed to you, and supposed him to be the young
gentleman who attained to some rather undesirable notoriety last year."

"How so?" asked the doctor.

"Oh! he very ungenerously and artfully endeavored to retain for
himself the honor of writing a clever little essay, really the work
of his brother, and actually obtained a prize from his grandfather
for it."

"How came that about?" asked Dr. Wilkinson.

"Oh! there was some mistake in the first instance, I believe, and the
mean little fellow took advantage of it."

Mr. Percy then gave a detailed account of Louis' birthday at Heronhurst,
and concluded by saying--

"I was not present, but I heard it from a spectator; I should be afraid
that you will not have a little trouble with such a character."

"It is extraordinary," said the doctor; "his brother is the most frank,
candid fellow possible."

"I hear he is a nice boy," said Mr. Percy. "There is frequently great
dissimilarity among members of the same family; but of course, this
goes no further. It is as well you should know it,--but I should not
talk of it to every one."

Dr. Wilkinson bowed slightly, and remained silent, without exhibiting
any peculiar gratification at having been made the depository of the
secret. Mr. Percy presently rose and took his leave; and Dr. Wilkinson
was turning towards the staircase, when a servant informed him that a
young gentleman waited to see him in the dining-room.

"Oh!" said the doctor to himself, "my dilatory pupil, I presume."

He seemed lost in thought for a minute, and then slowly crossing
the hall, entered the dining-room.

Louis had been very anxious for the appearance of his master, yet
almost afraid to see him; and when the door opened, and this gentleman
stood before him, he was seized with such a palpitation as scarcely to
have the power of speech.

Dr. Wilkinson was certainly a person calculated to inspire a school-boy
with awe. He was a tall, dignified man, between fifty and sixty years
of age, with a magnificent forehead and good countenance: the latter
was not, however, generally pleasing, the usual expression being stern
and unyielding. When he smiled, that expression vanished; but to a
new-comer there was something rather terrible in the compressed lips
and overhanging eyebrows, from under which a pair of the keenest black
eyes seemed to look him through.

Louis rose and bowed on his master's entrance.

"How do you do, Mortimer?" said the doctor, shaking hands with him.
"I dare say you are tired of waiting. You have not seen your brother,
I suppose?"

"No, sir," replied Louis, looking in the stern face with something
of his customary simple confidence. Doctor Wilkinson smiled, and
added, "You are very like your father,--exceedingly like what he
was at your age."

"Did you know him then, sir?" asked Louis, timidly.

"Yes, as well as I hope to know you in a short time. What is your name?"

"Louis Francis, sir."

"What! your father's name--that is just what it should be. Well, I hope,
Louis, you will now endeavor to give him the utmost satisfaction. With
such a father, and such a home, you have great privileges to account
for; and it is your place to show to your parents of what use their
care and instruction have been. In a large school you will find many
things so different from home, that, unless you are constantly on your
guard, you will often be likely to do things which may afterwards cause
you hours of pain. Remember that you are a responsible creature sent
into the world to act a part assigned to you by your Maker; and to Him
must the account of every talent be rendered, whether it be used, or
buried in the earth. As a Christian gentleman, see, Louis, that you
strive to do your part with all your might."

Dr. Wilkinson watched the attention and ready sympathy with his
admonition displayed by Louis; and in spite of the warning he had
so lately received, felt very kindly and favorably disposed towards
his new pupil.

"Come with me," he said, "I will introduce you to your school-fellows;
I have no doubt you will find your brother among them somewhere."

Louis followed Dr. Wilkinson through a door at the further end of the
hall, leading into a smaller hall which was tapestried with great-coats,
cloaks, and hats; and here an increasing murmur announced the fact of
his near approach to a party of noisy boys. As the doctor threw open
the folding-doors leading into the noble school-room, Louis felt
almost stupefied by the noise and novelty. A glass door leading into
the play-ground was wide open, and, as school was just over, there
was a great rush into the open air. Some were clambering in great
haste over desks and forms; and the shouting, singing, and whistling,
together with the occasional overthrow of a form, and the almost
incessant banging of desk-lids, from those who were putting away
slates and books, formed a scene perfectly new and bewildering to
our hero.

The entrance of Dr. Wilkinson stilled the tumult in a slight degree,
and in half a minute after, the room was nearly cleared, and a passage
was left for the new-comers towards the upper end. Here was a knot of
great boys (or, rather, craving their pardon, I should say _young men_),
all engaged in eager and merry confabulation. So intent were they that
their master's approach was wholly unnoticed by them. One of these young
gentlemen was sitting tailor fashion on the top of a desk, apparently
holding forth for the edification of his more discreet companions,
to whom he seemed to afford considerable amusement, if the peals of
laughter with which his sallies were received might be considered any
proof. A little aloof from this party, but within hearing, stood a
youth of about seventeen, of whom nothing was remarkable, but that his
countenance wore a very sedate and determined expression. He seemed
struggling with a determination not to indulge a strong propensity
to laugh; but, though pretending to be occupied with a book, his
features at length gave way at some irresistible sally, and throwing
his volume at the orator, he exclaimed--

"How can you be such an ass, Frank!"

"There now," said Frank, perfectly unmoved, "the centre of gravity is
disturbed,--well, as I was saying,--Here's the doctor!" and the young
gentleman, who was no other than Frank Digby, brother of Louis' cousin
Vernon, dismounted from his rostrum in the same instant that his auditors
turned round, thereby acknowledging the presence of their master.

"I have brought you a new school-fellow, gentlemen," said the doctor;
"where is Mortimer?"

"Here, sir," cried Reginald, popping up from behind a desk, where he
had been pinned down by a short thick-set boy, who rose as if by magic
with him.

"Here is your brother."

Louis and Reginald scrambled over all obstacles, and stood before
the doctor, in two or three seconds.

In spite of Louis' valiant protestations the preceding mid-summer
at Heronhurst, he did not dare, in the presence of only a quarter
of the hundred and twenty eyes, to embrace his brother, but contented
himself with a most energetic squeeze, and a look that said volumes;
and, indeed, it must be confessed, that Reginald was not an inviting
figure for an embrace; for, independently of a rough head, and
dust-bedecked garments, his malicious adversary had decorated his
face with multitudinous ink-spots, a spectacle which greatly provoked
the mirth of his laughter-loving school-fellows.

Dr. Wilkinson made some remark on the singularity of his pupil's
appearance, and then, commending Louis to the kind offices of
the assembled party, left the room.

He had scarcely closed the door behind him, when several loiterers
from the lower part of the room came up; and Reginald and his brother
were immediately assailed with a number of questions, aimed with such
rapidity as to be unanswerable.

"When did you come?" "Who's that, Mortimer?" "Is that your brother?"
"What's his name?" "Shall you be in our class?" "Why didn't you stay
longer in Bristol?--If I had been you I would!"

Louis was amused though puzzled, and turned first one way, and then
another, in his futile attempts to see and reply to his interrogators.

"Make way!" at last exclaimed Frank Digby; "you are quite embarrassing
to her ladyship. Will the lady Louisa take my arm? Allow me, madam, to
interpose my powerful authority." And he offered his arm to Louis with
a smirk and low bow, which set all the spectators off laughing; for
Frank was one of those privileged persons, who, having attained a
celebrity for being _very funny_, can excite a laugh with very little
trouble.

"Don't, Frank!" said Reginald.

"_Don't!_ really, Mr. Mortimer, if you have no respect for your
sister's feelings, it is time that I interposed. Here you allow this
herd of _I don't know what to call them_, to incommode her with their
senseless clamor. I protest, she is nearly fainting; she has been
gasping for breath the last five minutes. Be off, ye fussy, curious,
prying, peeping, pressing-round fellows; or, I promise you, you shall
be visited with his majesty's heaviest displeasure."

"How do you do, lady Louisa? I hope your ladyship's in good health!"
"Don't press on her!" was now echoed mischievously in various tones
around Louis, whose color was considerably heightened by this
unexpected attack.

"Now do allow me," persisted Frank, dragging Louis' hand in his arm,
in spite of all the victim's efforts to prevent it, and leading him
forcibly through the throng, which made way on every side, to Edward
Hamilton, the grave youth before mentioned:--"His majesty is anxious
to make the acquaintance of his fair subject. Permit me to present to
your majesty the lovely, gentle, blushing lady Louisa Mortimer, lately
arrived in your majesty's kingdom; your majesty will perceive that she
bears loyalty in her--hey! what! excited!--hysterics!"

The last exclamations were elicited by a violent effort of Louis to
extricate himself.

"Frank, leave him alone!"

"What is the will of royalty?" said Frank, struggling with his
refractory cousin.

"That you leave Louis Mortimer alone," said Hamilton. "You will like us
better presently, Louis," added he, shaking hands with him: "my subjects
appear to consider themselves privileged to be rude to a new-comer; but
my royal example will have its weight in due time."

"Your majesty's faithful trumpeter, grand vizier, and factotum is alive
and hearty," said Frank.

"But as he had a selfish fit upon him just now," returned Hamilton,
"we were under the necessity of doing our own business."

"I crave your majesty's pardon," said Frank, stroking his sovereign
tenderly on the shoulder; for which affectionate demonstration he was
rewarded by a violent push that laid him prostrate.

"I am a martyr to my own benevolence," said Frank, getting up and
approaching Louis, "still I am unchanged in devotion to your ladyship.
Tell me what I can do,"--and whichever way Louis turned, Frank with
his smirking face presented himself;--"Will you not give your poor
slave one command?"

"Only that you will stand out of my sunshine," said Louis good-temperedly.

"Very good," exclaimed Hamilton.

"Out of your sunshine! What, behind you? that is cruel, but most
obsequiously I obey."

Louis underwent the ordeal of a new scholar's introduction with
unruffled temper, though his cousin took care there should be little
cessation until afternoon school, when Louis was liberated from his
tormentors to his great satisfaction--Frank's business carrying him
to a part of the school-room away from that where Louis was desired to
await further orders. In the course of the afternoon, he was summoned
to the presence of Dr. Wilkinson, who was holding a magisterial levee
in one of two class-rooms or studies adjoining the school-room. The
doctor appeared in one of his sternest humors. Besides the fourteen
members of the first class, whose names Louis knew already, there
was in this room a boy about Louis' age, who seemed in some little
trepidation. Doctor Wilkinson closed the book he held, and laying it
down, dismissed his pupils; then turning to the frightened-looking boy,
he took a new book off the table, saying, "Do you know this, Harrison?"

"Yes, sir," faintly replied the boy.

"Where did you get it?"

"I bought it."

"To assist you in winning prizes from your more honorable class-fellows,
I suppose," said the doctor, with the most marked contempt. "Since you
find Kenrick too difficult for you, you may go into the third class,
where there may be, perhaps, something better suited to your capacity;
and beware a second offence: you may go, sir."

Louis felt great pity for the boy, who turned whiter still, and then
flushed up, as if ready to burst into tears.

"Well, Louis, I wish to see what rank you will be able to take,"
said the doctor, and he proceeded with his examination.

"Humph!" he ejaculated at length, "pretty well--you may try in the
second class. I can tell you that you must put your shoulder to
the wheel, and make the most of your powers, or you will soon be
obliged to leave it for a less honorable post; but let me see what
you can do--and now put these books away on that shelf." As he spoke,
the doctor pointed to a vacant place on one of the shelves that lined
two sides of the study, and left the room. Louis put the books away,
and then returned to the school-room, where he sought his brother, and
communicated his news just before the general uproar attendant on the
close of afternoon school commenced.

Reginald was one of the most noisy and eager in his preparations for
play; and, dragging Louis along with him, bounded into the fresh air,
with that keen feeling of enjoyment which the steady industrious
school-boy knows by experience.

"What a nice play-ground this is!" said Louis.

"Capital!" said Reginald. "What's the fun, Frank?" he cried to his
cousin, who bounded past him at this moment, towards a spot already
tolerably crowded.

"Maister Dunn," shouted Frank.

"Oh, the old cake-man, Louis," said Reginald; "I must go and get rid
of a few surplus pence."

"Do you like to spend your money in cakes?" asked Louis; "I have plenty,
Mrs. Colthrop took care of that."

"In that case I'll save for next time," said Reginald, "but let's go
and see what's going on."

Accordingly Reginald ran off in the cake-man's direction. Louis followed,
and presently found himself standing in the outer circle of a group of
his school-fellows, who formed a thick wall round a white-haired old
man and a boy, both of whom carried a basket on each arm, filled with
dainties always acceptable to a school-boy's palate.

[Illustration: Maister Dunn.]

Were I inclined to moralize, I might here make a few remarks on waste of
money, &c., but my business being merely to relate incidents at present,
I shall only say that there they stood, the old man and his assistant,
with the boys in constant motion and murmur around them.

Frank Digby and Hamilton were in the outer circle, the latter having
_walked_ from a direction opposite to that from which Frank and Reginald
came, but whose dignity did not prevent a certain desire to purchase if
he saw fit, and if not, to amuse himself with those who did so. He stood
watching the old man with an imperturbable air of gravity, and, hanging
on his arm in a state of listless apathy, stood Trevannion, another
member of the first class.

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