University of Virginia Library

Boarding School Scenes,
OR
A FROLIC AMONG THE LAWYERS.

1. CHAPTER I.

I was born in Charleston, South Carolina; I had very
bad health there in my early childhood, and “My Aunt
Betsey,” of whom I have before spoken, took a voyage
by sea, from Baltimore to my birth place, for the purpose
of returning with me to a climate which the physician
had said would strengthen my constitution.

She brought me up with the greatest kindness, or
rather I should say, she kept me comparatively feeble
by her over-care of my health. When I was about
fourteen years of age, my father brought my mother
and my little sister Virginia, from Charleston to see
me. My meeting with my kind mother I shall never
forget. She held me at arms' length for an instant, to
see if she could recognize, in the chubby boy before her,
the puny, sickly child with whom she had parted with
such fond regret on board the Caroline but a few years
before; and when, in memory and in heart, she recognized
each lineament, she clasped me to her bosom with
a wild hysteric joy, which compensated her—more than
compensated her—she said, for all the agony which our
separation had caused her. I loved my mother devotedly,
yet I wondered at the emotion which she exhibited
at our meeting; and, child though I was, a sense of
unworthiness came over me, possibly because my affections
could not sound the depth of hers.

My father's recognition was kinder than I had expected,
from what I remembered of our parting in Charleston.
He felt prouder of me than at our parting, I
presume, from my improved health and looks, and this
made him feel that my being tied to the apron strings
of my good old aunt, would not improve my manliness.
A gentleman whom he had met at a dinner party, who
was the principal of an academy, a kind of miniature
college, some thirty miles from Baltimore, had impressed
my father, by his disquisitions, with a profound respect
for such a mode of education.

“William,” said my father, in speaking on the subject
to Mr. Stetson, “will be better there than here
among the women; he'll be a baby forever here. No,
I must make a man of him. I shall take him next week
with me, and leave him in charge of Mr. Sears.”

My mother insisted upon it that I should stay longer,
that she might enjoy my society, and that my sister and
myself might become more attached to each other ere
they returned to Carolina. But my father said, “No,
my dear; you know it was always agreed between us,
that you should bring up Virginia as you pleased, and
that I would bring up William as I pleased.”

“Let us take him, then, back to Charleston,” exclaimed
my mother; “he is healthy enough now.”

“But he would not be healthy long there, my dear.
No, I have made inquiry; Mr. Sears is an admirable
man, and under his care, which I am satisfied will be
paternal, William will improve his mind, and learn to
be a man—will you not, William?”

I could only cling to my mother without reply.

“Here,” exclaimed my father, exultingly, “you see
the effect of his education thus far.”

“The effect of his education thus far!” retorted my

aunt Betsey, who did not relish my father's remark;
“he has been taught to say his prayers, and to love his
parents and tell the truth. You see the effects in him
now,” and she pointed to me, seated on a stool by my
mother.

All this made no impression upon my father. He
was resolved that I should go to Belle-Air, the country
town, situated twenty-four miles from Baltimore, where
the school was, the next week, and he so expressed himself
decidedly.

The condemned criminal, who counts the hours that
speed to his execution, scarcely feels more horror at
the rush of time than I did. One appalling now seemed
to possess me. I was deeply sensitive, and the
dread of my loneliness away from all I loved, and the
fear of the ridicule and tyranny of the oldsters haunted
me so that I could not sleep and I laid awake all
night picturing to myself what would be the misery of
my situation at Belle-Air. In fact, when the day arrived,
I bade my mother, aunt Betsey, and my little sister,
Virginia farewell, with scarcely a conciousness, and
was placed in the gig by my father, as the stunned criminal
is assisted into the fatal cart.

This over-sensitiveness—what a curse it is! I lay
no claims to genius, and yet I have often thought it
hard that I should have the quality which makes the
“fatal gift” so dangerous, and not the gift. My little
sister, Virginia, who had been my playmate for weeks,
cried bitterly when I left her. I dwelt upon her swimming
eye with mine, tearless and stony as death. The
waters of bitterness had gathered around my heart, but
had not yet found an outlet from their icy thrall, 'neath
which they flowed dark and deep.

Belle-Air, at the time I write of, was a little village of

some twenty-five or more houses, six of which were
taverns. It was and is a county town, and court was
regularly held there, to which the Baltimore lawyers
used to flock in crowds; and many mad pranks have I
known them to play there for their own amusement, if
not for the edification of the pupils of Mr. Sears.

My father drew up at McKenny's tavern, and as it
was about twelve when we arrived, and the pupils were
dismissed to dinner, he sent his card to the principal,
who in a few minutes made his appearance. Talk of a
lover watching the movements and having impressed
upon his memory the image of her whom he loveth!—
the school boy has a much more vivid recollection of
his teacher. Mr. Sears was a tall, stout man, with
broad, stooping shoulders. He carried a large cane,
and his step was as decided as ever was Dr. Busby's,
who would not take his hat off when the King visited
his school, for the reason, as he told his Majesty afterwards,
that if his scholars thought that there was a
greater man in the Kingdom than himself, he never
could control them. The face of Mr. Sears resembled
much the likeness of Alexander Hamilton, though his
features were more contracted, and his forehead had
nothing like the expansion of the great statesman's;
yet it projected very similarly at the brows. He welcomed
my father to the village with great courtesy, and
me to his pupilage with greater dignity. He dined with
my father, with me by his side, and every now and then
he would pat me on the head and ask me a question.
I stammered out monosyllabic answers, when the gentleman
would address himself again to his plate with
renewed gusto.

Mr. Sears recommended my father to board me at
the house of a Mr. Hall, who had formerly been the

Sheriff of the county, and whose wife and daughters,
he said, were very fine women. He regreted, he said,
when he first took charge of the academy, that there
was not some general place attached to it where the
pupils could board in common; but after-reflection had
taught him that to board them among the town-people
would be as well. He remarked that I was one of his
smallest pupils, but that he would look on me in loco
parentis, and doubted not that he could make a man
of me.

After dinner he escorted my father, leading me by
the hand, down to the academy, which was on the outskirts
of the town, at the other end of it from McKenny's.
The buzz, which the usher had not the power to
control in the absence of Mr. Sears, hushed instantly
in his presence; and as he entered with my father, the
pupils all rose, and remained standing until he ordered
them to be seated. Giving my father a seat, and
placing me in the one which he designed for me in the
school, Mr. Sears called several of his most proficient
scholars in the different classes, from Homer down to
the elements of English, and examined them. When
a boy blundered, he darted at him a look which made
him shake in his shoes; and when another boy, gave a
correct answer, and took his fellow's place, and glanced
up for Mr. Sears' smile, it was a picture which my friend
Beard, of Cincinnati, would delight to draw. The
blunderer looked like one caught in the act of sheep-stealing,
while the successful pupil took his place with
an air that might have marked one of Napoleon's approved
soldiers, when the Emperor had witnessed an
act of daring on his part. As for Mr. Sears, he thought
Napoleon a common creature to himself. To kill men,
he used to say, was much more easy than to instruct

them. He felt himself to be like one of the philosophers
of old in his academy; and he considered Dr.
Parr and Dr. Busby, who boasted that they had whipped
every distinguished man in the country, much
greater than he of Pharsalia or he of Austerlitz.

When the rehearsal of several classes had given my
father a due impression of Mr. Sears' great gifts as an
instructor, and of his scholars' proficiency, he took my
father to Mr. Hall's, to introduce us to my future host.

We found the family seated in the long room in
which their boarders dined. To Mr. Sears they paid
the most profound respect. Well they might, for without
his recommendation they would have been without
boarders. Hall was a tall, good humored, careless
man. His wife was older than himself, tall too, but full
of energy. He had two daughters, Harriet and Jane.
Harriet was a quick, active, lively girl, and withal pretty;
whilst Jane was lolling and lazy in her motions, and
without either good looks or smartness. The matter of
my boarding was soon arranged, and it had become
time for my father to depart. All this while the variety
and excitement of the scene had somewhat relieved my
feelings, but when my father bade me be a good boy,
and drove off, I felt as if the “last link” was indeed
broken; and though I made every effort, from a sense
of shame, to repress my tears, it was in vain, and they
broke forth the wilder from their previous restraint.—
Harriet Hall came up instantly to comfort me. She
took a seat beside me at the open window at which I
was looking out after my father, and with a sweet voice,
whose tones are in my memory yet, she told me not to
grieve because I was away from my friends; that I should
soon see them again, and that she would think I feared
they would not be kind to me if I showed so much sorrow.

This last remark touched me, and, whilst I was
drying my eyes, one of the larger boys, a youth of
eighteen or twenty, came up to the window (for the
academy by this time had been dismissed for the evening,)
and said:

“Ah, Miss Harriet, is this another baby crying for
home?”

In an instant my eyes were dried. I cast one glance
at the speaker; he was a tall, slim, reckless looking
fellow, named Prettyman; and from that day to this I
have neither forgotten it, nor, I fear, forgiven him.

In the night, when we retired to our rooms, I found
that my bed was in a room with two others, Prettyman
and a country bumpkin by the name of Muzzy. As
usual on going to bed, I kneeled down to say my prayers,
putting my hands up in the attitude of supplication.
I had scarcely uttered to myself the first words,
“Our Father,” but to the ear that heareth all things,
when Prettyman exclaimed:

“He's praying! `By the Apostle Paul!' as Richard
the Third says, that's against rules. Suppose we cob
him, Muzzy?” Muzzy laughed, and got into bed;
and I am ashamed to say that I arose with the prayer
dying away from my thoughts, and indignation and
shame usurping them, and sneaked into bed, where I
said my prayers in silence, and wept myself in silence
to sleep. In the morning, with a heavy heart, and none
but the kind Harriet to comfort me, I betook myself to
the academy.

Parents little know what a sensitive child suffers at a
public school. I verily believe that these schools engender
often more treachery, falsehood and cruelty,
than exist in West India slavery; I was about saying
even in the brains of an abolitionist. Most tenderly nurtured,

under thecare of an affectionate old aunt, who was
always fixing my clothes to keep me warm, coddling up
something nice to pamper me with, watching all my outgoings
and in-comings and seeing that everything around
me conduced to my convenience and comfort, the contrast
was indeed great when I appeared at the Belle-Air
academy, one of the smallest boys there, and subjected
to the taunts and buffetings of every larger boy than
myself in the institution. My father little knew what
agony it cost me to be made a man of.

I am not certain that the good produced by such
academies is equal to their evils. I remember well for
two or three nights after Prettyman laughed at me, that
I crept into bed to say my prayers, and, at last, under
this ridicule—for he practised his gift on me every
night—I not only neglected to say them, but began to
feel angry toward my Aunt that she had ever taught
them to me, as they brought so much contempt on me.
Yet, such is the power of conscience, at that tender
age, that, when I awoke in the morning of the first
night I had not prayed, I felt myself guilty and unworthy,
and went into the garden and wept aloud tears of
sincere contrition.

Too often, in public schools, the first thing a youth
learns from his elders, is to laugh at parental authority,
and to exhibit to the ridicule of his fellows the letter of
advice which his parent or guardian feels it his duty to
write to him, taking care, with a jest upon them, to pocket
the money they send, with an air of incipient profligacy,
which any one may see will soon not only be rank
but prurient. Such a moral contagion should be avoided;
and I therefore am inclined to think that the Catholic
mode of tuition, where some one of the teachers is
with the scholars, not only by day but by night, is preferable.

And, in fact, any one who has witnessed the
respectful familiarity which they teach their pupils to
feel and exhibit towards them, and the kindness with
which it is met cannot but be impressed with the truth
of my remarks.

There were nearly one hundred pupils at Belle-Air,
at the period of which I write, and the only assistant
Mr. Sears had, was a gaunt fellow named Dogberry.—
Like his illustrious namesake in Shakspeare, from whom
I believe he was a legitimate decendant, he might truly
have been “written down an ass.”

The boys invented all sorts of annoyances to torture
Dogberry withal. A favorite one was, when Mr. Sears
was in the city, which was at periods not unfrequent,
for them to assemble in the school before Dogberry
came, and, setting one by the door to give notice when
the usher was within a few feet of it, to begin as soon
as he appeared in sight, to shout as with one voice—
first “Dog,” and then, after a pause, by way of chorus,
“berry,”

As soon as notice was given by the watcher, he leaped
to his seat, and every tongue was silent, and every
eye upon the book before it. The rage of Dogberry
knew no bounds on these occasions. He did not like
to tell the principal; for the circumstance would have
proved not only his want of authority over the boys,
but the contempt in which they held him.

A trick which Prettyman played him, nearly caused
his death, and, luckily for the delinquent, he was never
discovered. Dogberry was very penurious, and he
saved two-thirds of his salary; as it was not large, he
had, of course, to live humbly. He dined at Hall's and
took breakfast and supper in his lodgings, if he ever
took them, and the quantity of the dinner of which he

made himself the receptacle caused it to be doubted.
His lodgings were the dormant story of a log cabin, to
which he had entrance by a rough flight of stairs without
the house and against its side. Under the stairs
was a large mud-hole, and Prettyman contrived one
gusty night to pull them down, with the intention of
calling the usher in the tone of Mr. Sears, (for he was a
good mimic,)and causing him to fall in the mud. Unluckily,
the usher heard the racket without, and not
dreaming it was the fall of the stairs, he leaped from his
bed, and hurried out to see what caused it. He fell on
them, and though no bones were broken, he was laid
up for several weeks. The wind always had the credit
of this affair, and Prettyman won great applause for his
speedy assistance and sympathy with Dogberry, whom
he visited constantly during his confinement.

The night of the adjournment of court, the lawyers,
and even the judges, had what they called a regular
frolic. Mr. Sears was in Baltimore, and the scholars
were easily induced to join in it—in fact they wanted
no inducement. About twelve o'clock at night we were
aroused from our beds by a most awful yelling for the
ex-sheriff. “Hall! Hall!” was the cry. Soon the door
was opened, and the trampling of feet was heard—in
a minute the frolickers ascended the stairs, and one of
the judges, with a blanket wrapped round him, like an
Indian, with his face painted and a red handkerchief
tied round his head, and with red slippers on, entered
our room, with a candle in one hand and a bottle in
the other; and, after making us drink all round, bade
us get up. We were nothing loath. On descending
into the dining-room, lo! there were the whole bar,
dressed off in the most fantastic style, and some of them
scarcely dressed at all. They were mad with fun and

wine. The ex-sheriff brought forth his liquors, and
was placed on his own table a culprit, and tried and
found guilty of not having been, as in duty bound, one
of the originators of the frolic. He was, therefore, fined
glasses round for the company, and ordered by the
judges to pay it at Richardson's bar. To Richardson's
the order was given to repair. Accordingly, they formed
a line without, Indian file. Two large black women
carried a light in each hand beside the first judge,
and two smaller black women carried a light in their
right hands beside the next one. The lawyers followed,
each with a light in his hand, and the procession closed
with the scholars, who each also bore a light. I, being
smallest, brought up the rear. There was neither man
nor boy who was not more or less intoxicated, and the
wildest pranks were played.

When we reached Dogberry's domicil, one of the
boys proposed to have him out with us. The question
was put by one of the judges and carried by unanimous
acclamation. It was further resolved, that a deputation
of three, each bearing a bottle of different liquor,
should be appointed to wait on him, with the request
that he would visit the Pawnee tribe, from the far West,
drink some fire-water with them, and smoke the pipe of
peace.

Prettyman, whose recklessness knew no bounds, and
who, as I suppose, wished to involve me in difficulty,
moved that the smallest and tallest person in the council
be of that deputation. There happened to be by
Dogberry's a quantity of logs, which had been gathered
there for the purpose of building a log house. Mr.
Patterson, (I use here a fictitious name) was at this
time the great lawyer of Maryland. He was dressed
in a splendid Indian costume, which a Western client

had given him, and he had painted himself with care
and taste. He was a fine looking man, and stretching
out his hand, he exclaimed—

“Brothers, be seated; but not on the prostrate forms
of the forest, which the ruthless white man has felled
to make unto himself a habitation. Like the big warrior,
Tecumseh, in council with the great white chief,
Harrison, we will sit upon the lap of our mother, the
earth—upon her breast we will sleep—the Pawnee has
no roof but the blue sky, where dwelleth the Great
Spirit—and he looks up to the shining stars, and they
look down upon him—and they count the leaves of the
forest and know the might of the Pawnees.”

Every one, by this time, had taken a seat upon the
ground, and all were silent. As the lights flashed over
the group, they formed as grotesque a scene as I have
ever witnessed.

“Brothers,” he continued, “those eyes of the Great
Spirit,”—pointing upward to the stars—“behold the
rushing river, and they say to our fathers, who are in
the happy hunting grounds of the blest, that, like it,
is the might of the Pawnee when he rushes to battle.
The white men are dogs—their carcasses drift in the
tide—they are cast out on the shore, and the prairie-wolf
fattens on them.

“Brothers: the eyes of the Great Spirit behold the
prairies and the forest, where the breath of the wintry
wind bears the red fire through them—where the prairie-wolf
flies and the fire flies faster. Brothers, the white
man is the prairie-wolf, and the Pawnee is the fire.

“Brothers: when the forked fire from the right arm
of the Great Spirit smites the mountain's brow, the
eagle soars upward to his home in the clouds, but the
snake crawls over the bare rock in the blast, and hides

in the clefts and hollows and holes. Behold! the forked
fire strikes the rock and scatters it as the big warrior
would throw pebbles from his hand, and the soaring
eagle darts from the clouds and the death-rattle of
the snake is heard, and he hisses no more.

“Brothers: the Pawnee is the eagle, the bird of the
Great Spirit, and the white man is the crawling snake
that the Great Spirit hates.

“Brothers: the shining eyes of the Great Spirit see
all these things, and tell them to our fathers, who are
in the happy hunting grounds of the blest, and they
say that some day, wrapped in the clouds, they will
come and see us, for our land is like theirs.”

This was said with so much eloquence by the distinguished
lawyer, that there was the silence of nearly
a minute when he concluded. In the company was a
lawyer named Short, who, strange to say, was just six
feet three inches and a half high, and he had a client—
which is stranger still—named Long, who was but
five feet high.

“Who has precedence, Judge Williard?” called out
some one in the crowd, breaking in upon the business
of the occasion, as upon such occasions business always
will be broken in upon—“who has precedence,
Long or Short?”

“Long,” exclaimed the judge, “of course. It is a
settled rule in law, that you must take as much land
as is called for in the deed—therefore, Long takes
precedence of Short. May be, Short has a remedy
in equity; but this court has nothing to do with that—
so you have the long and the short of the matter.”

“Judge,” cried out the ex-sheriff, “we must go to
Richardson's—you know it is my treat.”

“The Pawnee, the eagle of his race,” exclaimed Patterson,

“the prophet of his tribe; he who is more than
warrior—whose tongue is clothed with the Great Spirit's
thunder—who can speak with the eloquence of the
spring air when it whispers amidst the leaves and
makes the flowers open and give forth their sweets—
he, the Charming Serpent, that hath a tongue forked
with persuasion—he, even he, will go unto the white
man, and invite him to come forth and taste the fire-water,
and smoke the pipe of peace with the Pawnee.
Then, if he comes not forth when the Charming Serpent
takes him by the hand and bids him, the Pawnees
shall smoke him out like a fox, and his blazing habitation
shall make night pale, and there shall be no resting
place for his foot, and children and squaws shall
whip him into the forest, and set dogs upon his trail,
and he shall be hunted from hill to hill, from river to
river, from prairie to prairie, from forest to forest, till,
like the frightened deer, he rushes, panting, into the
great lakes, and the waters rise over him, and cover
him from the Pawnee's scorn.”

This was received with acclamation. Mr. Patterson
played the Indian so well that he drew me one of the
closest to him in the charmed circle that surrounded
him. His eye flashed, his lips quivered with fiery ardor,
though but in a mimic scene. He would have
made a great actor. I was so lost in admiration of
him, that I placed myself beside him without knowing
it. He saw the effect he had produced upon me, and
was evidently gratified. Taking me by the hand, he
said—

“Warriors and braves: give unto me the brand, that
the Charming Serpent may light the steps of the boy to
the hiding place of the pale-face. He shall listen to the
eloquence of the Charming Serpent when he takes the

white man by the hand—he shall learn to move alike
the heart of the pale-face and the red-man.

“Brothers: the Charming Serpent to-night,” said he`
handing me the candle, and placing himself in an
oratorial attitude, while every man lifted up his candle
so that it shone full upon him—“Brothers, the Charming
Serpent to-night could speak unto the four winds
that are now howling in the desolate Pawnee paths of
the wilderness, and make them sink into a low moan,
and sigh themselves to silence, were he to tell them of
the many of his tribe who are now lying mangled, unburied,
and cold, beneath the shadow of the Rocky
Mountains—victims of the white man's treacherous
cruelty.

“Brothers: O! that the Great Spirit would give the
Charming Serpent his voice of thunder—then would
he stand upon the highest peak of the Alleghanies, with
the forked lightening in his red right hand, and tell a
listening and heart-struck world the wrongs of his race.
And, when all of every tribe of every people had come
crouching in the valleys, and had filled up the gorges
of the hills, then would the Charming Serpent hurl
vengeance on the oppressor. But come,” said he,
taking the candle in one hand, and myself in the other,
“the Pawnee talks like a squaw. The Charming Serpent
will speak with the pale-face, and lead him forth
from his wigwam to the great council fire.”

2. CHAPTER II.

Accordingly, the Charming Serpent holding me by
the hand, led me up the stairs. His steps were steady.
It was evident that his libations had excited his brain,
and instead of weakening him, gave him strength.

What's your name?” said he to me kindly

“William Russell, sir.”

“Do you know me, my little fellow?”

“Yes sir, you're Mr. Patterson, the great lawyer.”

“Ah, Ha! they call me the great lawyer! What else
do they say?”

“That you're the greatest orator in the country,” I
replied—for what I had drank made me bold, too.

“They do—I know they do, my little fellow—I believe,
in fact, that I could have stood up in the Areopagus
of old, in favor of human rights, and faced the best
of them. Yes, sir, I too could have fulmined over
Greece. But we are not Grecians now—we are
Pawnees.”

“Stop, stop, Mr. Pawnee,” called out some one from
the crowd, “Short was to go, he is the tallest man.”

“The tallest man,” re-echoed Mr. Patterson, speaking
in his natural tone. “The judge, sir, has already
decided that by just legal construction, Short is short,
no matter how long he is; and, if he claims to be long,
sir, I can just inform him that Lord Bacon says `that
tall men are like tall houses, the upper story is the
worst furnished:” Here every eye was turned on Short,
and there was a shout of laughter.

“If,” continued Mr. Patterson—and it was evident his
potations were doing their work—“if it be true—I'll
just say this to you, sir: Dr. Watts was a very small
man, and he said and I repeat it of all small men—

“There, gentlemen of the jury; if that be true, I
opine that the tallest man in the crowd is addressing
you. But, I forget, I am a Pawnee.”

“Brothers: The tall grass of the prairies is swept by

the fire, while the flint endureth the flames of the stake.
The loftiest trees of the forest snap like a reed in the
whirlwind, and the bird that builds there leaves her eggs
unhatched. The highest peak of the mountain is always
the bleakest and barest—in the valley are the
sweet waters and the pleasant places. Damn it,” said
he, speaking in his proper person, for he began to forget
his personation, “why do we value the gem—

“That's Burns, an illustrious name, gentlemen.—
When I was minister abroad, I stood beside the peasant-poet's
grave, and thanked God that he had given me
the faculties to appreciate him. Suppose that he had
been born in this land of ours, sirs, all we who think
ourselves lights in law and statesmanship would have
seen our stars paled—paled, sirs, as the fire of the
prairie grows dim when the eye of the great spirit looks
forth from the eastern gates—damn it, that's Ossian and
not Pawnee—upon it in its fierceness.

That's Byron—I know him well—handsome fellow.
`Thou shinest not on my soul'—no but thou shinest on
the prairie.”

“The usher!—Dogberry—let's have Dogberry!”
called out several of the students.

“Ha!” exclaimed Mr. Patterson, “Dogberry!” He's
Goldsmith's village teacher, that caused the wonder—

“That one small head could carry all he knew.'

Dogberry!—Dogberry?—but that sounds Shaksperian.
`Reading and writing come by nature.' Those

certainly are not his sentiments. I mean the defendant's
—were they, he should throw away the usher's rod and
betake himself to something else; for if these things
come by nature, then is Dogberry's occupation gone.
Yes, he had better betake himself to the constableship
—the night watch. Come my little friend—come, son
of the Pawnee, and we will arouse the pale face.”

Obeying Mr. Patterson, we ascended to the little platform
in front of Dogberry's door, at which he rapped
three times distinetly. “Who's there?” cried out a
voice from within. Dogberry must of course have been
awake for at least half an hour.

“Pale-face,” said the Pawnee chief. “Thou hast not
followed the example of the great chief of the pale-faces;
the string of thy latch is pulled in. Upon my word,
this is certainly the attic story,” he continued in a low
voice—“are you attic too Dogberry?”

“No sir I am rheumatic—gentleman, unless your
business be pressing”—

“Pressing! Pale-face, the Pawnees have lit their
council fire, and invite thee to drink with them the fire-water,
and smoke the pipe of peace.”

“Thank you, gentlemen, I never drink,” responded
Dogberry, in an impatient tone.

“Never drink! Pale-face, thou liest! Who made
the fire-water, and gave it to my people, but thee and
thine? Lo! before it, though they once covered the
land, they have melted away like snow beneath the
sun.”

“I belong to the temperance society,” cried out Dogberry
from within. “Dogberry,” exclaimed Patterson
—whose patience, like that of the crowd below, who
were calling for the usher as if they were at a town
meeting and expected him to speak, was becoming exhausted—“Dogberry,

compel me not, as your great
name-sake would say, to commit either `perjury' or
`burglary,' and break your door open. You remember
in Marmion, Dogberry, that the chief, speaking of the
insult which had been put upon him, said:

Now I will not say that I would make you drink
wherever the old chief would `right his wrongs,' but
this I will say, that whenever I, Burbage Patterson, get
drunk, I think you can come forth and take a stirrup
cup with him: he leaves for the Supreme Court to-morrow,
to encounter the giant of the North.”

“Mr. Patterson,” said Dogberry, coming towards
the door, “your character can stand it—it can stand
anything—mine can't.”

“There's truth in that,” said Mr. Patterson aside
to me.

“Gentlemen, let us leave the pedagogue to his reflection;
and now it occurs to me that we had better
not uncage him, for, boys, he would be a witness against
you; more, witness, judge, jury, and executioner—by
the by, clear against law. Were I in your place, I
would appeal, and for every stripe he gives you,
should the judgment be reversed, do you give him two.”

Here a sprightly fellow, one of the scholars, named
Morris, from Long Green, ran up the steps and said to
Mr. Patterson:

“Do, sir, have him out, for if we get him into the
frolic too, we are as safe, sir, as if we were all in our
beds. He has seen us all through some infernal crack
or other.”

“Ah,” exclaimed Mr. Patterson in a low tone to Morris,
“he has been playing Cowper, has he—“looking

from the loop holes of retreat, seeing the Babel and not
feeling the stir.”

“Yes, sir, but he'll make a stir about it to-morrow.”

“He shall come forth, then,” said Mr. Patterson;
“Dogberry, open the door; they speak of removing
Sears, and why don't you come forth and greet your
friends? We have an idea of getting the appointment
for you.”

This flattery took instant effect, for we heard Dogberry
bustling to the door, and in a moment it was
opened about half way, and the usher put his head out,
and said, but with evident wish that his invitation would
be refused, “Will you come in, sir?—Why William
Russell!” to me in surprise.

“Pale-face, this is a youthful brave to whom I want
the pale-face to teach the arts of his race. Behold!
I am the Charming Serpent. Come forth and taste of
the fire-water.”

As Mr. Patterson spoke, he took Dogberry by the
hand and pulled him on the platform. The usher was
greeted with loud acclamations and laughter by the
crowd. He, however, did not relish it, and was frightened
out of his wits. He really looked the personification
of a caricature. His head was covered with an old
flannel night cap, notwithstanding it was warm weather,
and his trowsers were held up by his hips, while his
suspenders dangled about his knees. On his right leg
he had an old boot, and on his left foot an old shoe; he
was without coat or vest. As Mr. Patterson held up the
light so that the crowd below could see him, there was
such a yelling as had not been heard on the spot since
those whose characters the crowd were assuming had
left it.

Dogberry hastily withdrew into his room, but followed

by Mr. Patterson and myself, each bearing a light.—
When we entered, the crowd rushed up the steps.

“For God's sake, sir, for the sake of my character
and situation, don't let them come in here.”

“They shall not if you will promise to drink with me
Pale face, speak, will you drink with the Pawnee?”

“Yes, sir,” said Dogberry faintly.

The Charming Serpent here went to the door, and
said:

“Brothers, the Charming Serpent would hold a private
talk with the chief of the pale faces. Ere long, he
will be with you. Let the Big Bull (one of the lawyers
was named Bull, and he was very humorous.) pass
round the fire water and the calumet, and by that time
the Charming Serpent will come forth. Brothers, give
unto the Charming Serpent some of the fire water that
he may work his spells.”

A dozen handed up bottles of different wines and liquors.
The Charming Serpent gave Dogberry the candles
to hold, took a bottle of Champagne and handed
me another. Then shutting the door he said:

“This is the fire-water that hath no evil in it. It courses
through the veins like a silvery lake through the prairie,
where the wild grass waves green and glorious, and it
makes the heart merry like the merriment of birds in
the spring time, and not with the fierce fires of the dark
lake, like the strong fire-water that glows red as the living
coal. Brothers, we will drink.”

Dogberry's apartment was indeed an humble one.
Only in the centre of it could you stand upright. Over
our heads were the rafters and bare shingles, formed exactly
in the shape of the capitalletter Vinverted. Opposite
the door was a little window of four panes of
glass, and under it, or rather beside it, in the corner,

was a little beadstead, with a straw mattress upon it. A
small table, with a tumbler and broken pitcher and candle
in a tin candle-stick on it, stood opposite the bed.
A board nailed across from rafter to rafter, held a few
books, and beside it on nails, were several articles of
clothing. There were besides in the apartment two
chairs, and a wooden chest in the corner by the door.

“Come, drink, my old boy,” exclaimed Patterson.

“Thank you, Mr. Patterson, your character can stand
it, I tell you, but mine can't.”

“Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,” reiterated Patterson,
offering Dogberry the glass.

“Thank you Mr. Patterson, I would not choose any,”
said he.

“You can't but choose, Dogberry; there is no alternative.
Do you remember what the poet beautifully
says of the Roman daughter, who sustained her imprisoned
father from her own breast?

Do you remember it? I bid you drink, then, and I say
to you Hebe, nor Ganymede never offered to the immortals
purer wine than that; I imported it for my own
use. Drink! here's to you, Dogberry, and to your
speedy promotion;” and Mr. Patterson swallowed every
drop in the glass, and, refilling it, handed it to the usher.

“How do you like the letter, Mr. Dogberry?” asked
Mr. Patterson of the pedagogue.

“What letter, sir? Mr. Patterson, I must say this is
a strange proceeding. I don't know, sir, to what you
allude.”

“Don't know to what I allude! Why, the letter wishing
to know if you would take the academy at the same
price at which Sears now holds it.”

“Sir, I have no such letter. I certainly, sir, would,
if it was thought that I was—”

“Was competent. Merit is always modest; you're
the most competent of the two, sir,—take some.”

So saying, Mr. Patterson filled up the tumbler, and
Dogberry swallowed the compliment and the wine together,
and fixed his eye on the rafters with an exulting
look.

While he was so gazing, the lawyer filled his glass,
and observed, “Come, drink, and let me open this other
bottle; I want a glass myself.” Down went the wine,
and with a smack of his lips, Dogberry handed the
glass to Mr. Patterson.

“Capital, ain't it, eh?”

“Capital,” re-echoed Dogberry. The wine and his
supposed honors had roused the brain of the pedagogue
in a manner which seemed to awake him to a
new existence. While Mr. Patterson was striking the
top from the other bottle, Dogberry handed me the candle
which he held—the other he had put in his candle-stick,
taking out his own candle when he first drank—
and lifting the tumbler, he stood ready.

Again he quaffed a bumper. The effect of these
potations on him was electrical. He had a long face,
with a snipe-like nose, which was subject to a nervous
twitching whenever its owner was excited. It now
danced about, seemingly, all over his face, while his
naturally cadaverous countenance, under the excitement,
turned to a glowing red, and his small ferret eyes
looked both dignified and dancing, merry and important.
“So,” he exclaimed, “I am to be principal of the
academy; ha, ha, ha! oh, Lord! William Russel, I
would reprove you on the spot, but that you are in such
distinguished company.”

Whether Dogberry meant only Mr. Patterson, or included
himself, I do not know, but as he spoke he
arose, and paced his apartment with a proud tread, forgetting
what a figure he cut, with his suspenders dangling
about his knees and his night cap on, and forgetting
also that his attic was not high enough to admit
his head to be carried at its present altitude. The consequence
was that he stuck it against one of the rafters,
with a violence that threatened injury to the rafter, if not
to the head. He stooped down and rubbed the affected
part, when Mr. Patterson said to him, “Pro-di-gi-ous,”
as Dominie Sampson, one of you, said, ain't it? Hang
Franklin's notion about stooping in this world. Come,
we'll finish this bottle, and then go forth. The scholars
are all rejoiced at your promotion, and are all assembled
without to do you honor. They have made a
complete saturnalia of it. They marvel why you treat
them with so much reserve.”

“Gad, I'll do it,” exclaimed Dogberry, taking the
tumbler and swallowing the contents.

“Just put your blanket around you,” said Patterson
to him, “and let your night-cap remain; it becomes
you.”

“No, it don't indeed, though eh?”

“It does, 'pon honor. That's it. Now, pale face,
come forth; the eloquence of the Charming Serpent has
prevailed.”

So speaking, Mr. Patterson opened the door, and we
stepped on to the platform.

The scene without was grotesque in the extreme. In
front of us, I suppose to the number of a hundred persons,
were the frolickers, composed of lawyers, students,
and town's people, all seated in a circle; while Mr. Paterson's
client from the West, dressed in costume, was

giving the Pawnee war-dance. This client was a rough,
uneducated man, but full of originality and whim. Mr.
Patterson had gained a suit for him, in which the title
to an estate in the neighborhood was involved, worth
upwards of sixty thousand dollars. The whole bar had
believed that the suit could not be sustained by Patterson,
but his luminous mind had detected the clue
through the labyrinths of litigation, where they saw
nothing but confusion and defeat. His client was overjoyed
at the result, as every one had croaked defeat to
him. He gave Mr. Patterson fifteen thousand dollars,
five more than he had promised, and had made him a
present of the splendid Indian dress in which, as a bit
of fun, before the frolic commenced, he had decked
himself, under the supervision of his client, who acted
as his costumer, and afterwards dressed himself in the
same way. The client had a great many Indian dresses
with him, which he had collected with great care, and
on this occasion he had thrown open his trunks and supplied
nearly the whole bar.

The name of Mr. Patterson's client was Blackwood,
and the admiration which he excited seemed to give
him no little pleasure. Most of the lawyers in the circle
had something Indian on them, while the boys, who
could not appear in costume, and were determined to
appear wild, had turned their jackets wrong side out,
and swapped with each other, the big ones with the little,
so that one wore his neighbor's jacket, the waist
of which came up under his arms, and exhibited the
back of his vest, while the other wore a coat, the hip
buttons of which were at his knees.

On the outskirts of this motley assembly could be
seen, here and there, a negro, who might be said at
once to contribute to the darkness that surrounded the

scene and to reflect light upon it; for their black skins
were as ebon as night, while their broad grins certainly
had something luminous about them, as their white
teeth shone forth.

We stood about a minute admiring the dance, when
it was concluded, some one espied us, and pointed us
out to the rest. We, or rather, I should say, Dogberry,
was greeted with three times three. I have never
seen, for the size of the assembly, such an uproarious
outbreak of bacchanalian merriment. After the cheers
were given, many of the boys threw themselves on the
grass and rolled over and over, shouting as they rolled.
Others jerked their fellow's hats off, and hurled them in
the air. Prettyman stood with his arms folded, as if
he did not know what to make of it, and then, deliberately
spreading his blanket on the ground, he deliberately
took a seat in the centre of it, and, like an amateur
at play, enjoyed the scene. Morris held his sides,
stooped down his head, and glanced sideways cunningly
at Dogberry, throwing his head back every now
and then with a sudden jerk, while loud explosive bursts
of laughter, from his very heart, echoed through the
village above every other sound.

“A speech from Dogberry!” exclaimed Prettyman.

“Ay, a speech!” shouted Morris, “a speech!”

“No, gentlemen, not now,” exclaimed Richardson,
the proprietor of one of the hotels; “I sent down to
my house an hour ago, and have had a collation served.
Mr. Patterson, and gentlemen and students all, I
invite you to partake with me.”

“Silence!” called out Mr. Patterson. All were silent.
“Students of the Belle-Air academy and citizens
generally, I have the honor to announce to you that my
friend, Mr. Dogberry, is about to supercede Mr. Sears.

We must form a procession and place him in our midst,
the post of honor, and then to mine host's.” So speaking,
Mr. Patterson descended, followed by Dogberry and
myself. The students gave their candles to the negroes
to hold, joined their hands, and danced round Dogberry
with the wildest glee, while he received it all in
drunken dignity.

When I have seen since, in Chapman's floating theatre,
or in a barn or shed in the far West, some lubberly,
drunken son of the sock and buskin enact Macbeth,
with the witches about him, I have recalled this
scene, and thought that the boys looked like the witches,
and Dogberry like the Thane, when the witches greet
him:

The procession was at length formed. Surrounded
by the boys, who rent the air with shouts, with his night-cap
on his head and his blanket around him, with one
boot and one shoe, Dogberry, following immediately
after the judges, proceeded with them to Richardson's
hotel. Whenever there was the silence of a minute or
two, some boy or other would ask Dogberry not to remember
on the morrow that he saw them out that night.”

“No, boys, no; certainly not; this thing, I understand,
is done in honor of me—I shan't take Sears in
even as an assistant. Boys, he has not used me
well.”

We arrived at Richardson's as well as we could, having
business on both sides of the street. His dining
room was a very large one, and he had a very fine collation
set out, with plenty of wines and other liquors.—
Judge Willard took the head of the table, and Judge
Noland the foot. Dogberry was to the right of Judge
Willard, and Mr. Patterson to the left. He made me

sit beside him. The eating was soon despatched, and
it silenced us all a little, while it laid the ground work
for standing another supply of wine, which was soon
sparkling in our glasses, and we were now all more excited
than ever. It was amusing to see the merry faces
of my schoolmates twinkling about among the crowd,
trying to catch and comprehend whatever was said by
the lawyers, particularly those that were distinguished.

Songs were sung, sentiments given, and Indian talks
held by the quantity. Dogberry looked the while first
at the boys, and then at the lawyers, and then at himself,
not knowing whether or not the scene before him was a
reality or a dream. The great respect which the boys
showed him, and Patterson making an occasional remark
to him, seemed at least not only fully to impress
him with the reality, but also with a full, if not a sober
conviction of his own importance.

“A song!—a song!” was shouted by a dozen of the
larger students; “a song from Morris. Give us `Down
with the pedagogue Sears.' Hurrah for old Dogberry!
Dogberry forever!”

“No,” cried out others, “a speech from Mr. Patterson—no,
from the Pawnee You're finable for not speaking
in character.”

Here Prettyman took Mr. Patterson courteously by
the hand, and said something to him in a whisper.

“Ah ha!” exclaimed Mr. Patterson, “so it shall be;
I like Morris. Come, my good fellow, sing us the
song you wrote; come, Dogberry's Star is now in the
ascendant. `Down with the pedagogue Sears'—let's
have it.

Nothing loth, Morris was placed on the table, while
the students gathered round him, ready to join the
chorus. Taking a preparatory glass of wine, while

Mr. Patterson rapped on the table by way of commanding
silence. Morris placed himself in an attitude and
sang the following which he had written on some rebellious
occasion or other:

“Hip, hip, hurrah—once more,” shouted Morris.
“Now then”—

While the whole room was in uproarious chorussing,
who should enter but Sears himself. He looked round
with stern dignity and surprise, at first uncertain on
whom to fix his indignation, when his eye lit on Dogberry,
who, the most elated and inebriated of all, was
flourishing his night cap over his head, and shouting at
the top of his voice:

As soon as Sears caught a view of Dogberry, he advanced

towards him, as if determined to inflict personal
chastisement on the usher. At first Dogberry
again prepared to vociferate the chorus, but when he
met the eye of Sears his voice failed him, and he moved
hastily towards Mr. Patterson, who slapped him on the
shoulders, and cried out,

“Dogberry, be true to yourself.”

“I am true to myself. Yes, my old boy, old Sears,
you're no longer head devil at Belle-air Academy.—
You're no devil at all, or if you are, old boy, you're a
poor devil, and be d—d to you.”

“You're a drunken out-cast, sir,” exclaimed Sears.
“Never let me see your face again; I dismiss you from
my service from Belle-air Academy” and so speaking,
he took a note book from his pocket, and began
hastily to take down the names of the students. The
Big Bull saw this, and caught it from his hand.

“Sir, sir,” exclaimed Sears, enraged, “my vocation,
and not any respect I bear you, prevents my infliction
of personal chastisement upon you. Boys, young
gentlemen, leave instantly for your respective boarding
houses.”

During this, Patterson was clapping Dogberry on
the shoulder, evidently to inspire him with courage.

“Tell him yourself,” I overheard Dogberry say.

“No, no,” replied Patterson, “it is your place.”

“Well, then, I'll tell you at once, Sears: you're no
longer principal of this academy; you're dished. Mr.
Patterson, sir, will tell you so.”

“Mr. Patterson!” exclaimed Sears, for the first time
recognizing, in the semblance of the Indian chief, the
distinguished lawyer and statesman. “Sir, I am more
than astonished.”

“Sir,” rejoined Patterson, drawing himself up with

dignity, “I am a Pawnee brave; more, a red-man eloquent,
or a pale-face eloquent, as it pleases me; but,
sir, under all circumstances, I respect your craft and
calling. What more dignified than such! A poor,
unfriended boy, I was taken by the hand by an humble
teacher of a country school, and here I stand, let
me say, sir, high in the councils of a great people, a
leader among leaders in the senate hall of nations—
and I owe it to him. Peace to old Playfair's ashes
The old philosopher, like Porson, loved his cups, and,
like Parr, loved his pipe; but, sir, he was a ripe scholar
and a noble spirit, and I have so said, sir, in the
humble monument which I am proud, sir, I was enabled,
through the education he gave me, to build over
him;
Yes, as some one says, he was `my friend before
had flatterers.' How proud he was of me! I remember
well catching his eye in making my first speech,
and the approving nod he gave me had more gratification
to me than the approbation of bench, bar, and
audience. Glorious old Playfair! Mr. Sears, you
were his pupil too. Many a time have I heard him
speak of you; he said, of all his pupils you were the
one to wear his mantle. And, sir, that was the highest
compliment he could pay you—the highest, Mr.
Speaker, for he esteemed himself of the class of the
philosophers, the teachers of youth. Sir, Mr. Sears,
I propose to you that, in testimony of our life-long respect
for him, we drink to his memory.”

This was said so eloquently, and withal so naturally,
that Sears, forgetful of his whereabouts, took the
glass which Mr. Patterson offered him, and drank its
contents reverently to the memory of his old teacher.

“Sir,” resumed Patterson, “how glorious is your
vocation! But, tell me, do you subscribe to the sentiments
of Don Juan?

The appropriate quotation caused a thrill to run through
the assembled students, while they cast ominous looks
at each other. For the life of him, Sears could not
resist a smile.

At this Mr. Patterson glanced at us with a quiet
meaning, and, turning to Mr. Sears, he continued:
“The elder Adams taught school—he whose eloquence
Jefferson has so loudly lauded—the man who was for
liberty or death, and so expressed himself in that beautiful
letter to his wife. Do you not remember that
passage, sir, where he speaks of the Fourth being
greeted thereafter with bon-fires and illuminations?
His son, Johnny Q. taught school. My dark-eyed
friend Webster, who is now figuring so gloriously in
the halls of Congress and in the Supreme Court and
whom I meet to-morrow, taught school. Judge Rowan,
of Kentucky, a master spirit too, taught school.
Who was that

Who was he? Milton—the glorious, the sublime,—
who, in his aspirations for human liberty, prayed to
that great Spirit who, as he himself says, `sends forth
the fire from his altar to touch and purify the lips of
whom he pleaseth'—Milton, the school-master.
Would he not be proud of his vocation, when he reflected
how many great spirits had followed his example?
The school-master is indeed abroad. Mr. Sears,
let us drink the health of the blind old man eloquent.”

“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Patterson, but before
my scholars, under the circumstances, it would be setting
a bad example, when existing circumstances prove
they need a good one. Sir, it was thought that I
should not return from Baltimore until to-morrow, and
this advantage has been taken of my absence. But,
Mr. Patterson, when such distinguished gentlemen
as yourself set the example, I know not what to say.”

“Forgive them, sir, forgive them,” said Mr. Patterson,
in his blandest tone.

“Let them repair to their homes, then, instantly.
Mr. Patterson, your eloquent conversation has made
me forget myself; I don't wonder they should have forgotten
themselves. Let them depart.”

“There, boys,” exclaimed Mr. Patterson, “I have
a greater opinion of my oratorical powers than ever.
Be ye all dismissed until I again appear as a Pawnee
brave, which I fear will be a long time, for 'tis not
every day that such men as my western client are
picked up. But, Mr. Sears, what do you say about

Dogberry? He must be where he was; to morrow
must type yesterday. Dogberry, how is Verges?”

“I don't know him,” said Dogberry, doggedly.

“Why, sir, he is the associate of your name-sake
in Shakspeare's immortal page. Let this play to-night,
Mr. Sears, be like that in which Dogberry's name-sake
appeared—let it be `Much ado about Nothing.”'

Sears smiled and nodded his head approvingly.

“Then be the court adjourned,” exclaimed Mr.
Patterson. “Dogberry, you and my friend Sears are
still together, and you must remember in the premises
what your name-sake said to Verges, `An two men
ride of a horse, one man must ride behind.”'

Giving three cheers for Mr. Patterson, we boys separated,
and the next day found us betimes in the academy,
where mum was the word between all parties.