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and we sticks pens hinto hit, whichever on us his behind im hat lesson time."

"Is he much in school himself?" said I.

"Not a great deal," said Tom; "he's a good deal hover at the White Art; he's a dab at billiards, and e's halmost halways hat hit: yet e wollops hus like sacks if he kitches us playing marvels for hanythink."

"Are there many boys at the school?" said I, marvelling myself at the style of Tom's language and his mode of pronunciation, of which, as he was always, till the recent accident, somewhere out of sight playing with gunpowder, I had not had any great previous experience.

"Ow many?" said Tom, "heighty-height last alf."

"Are you kept very hard at work, my dear boy?" said Cuthbert, looking at him with a mingled expression of affection and compassion, which to me appeared most absurd.

"Oh, yes, Pa," said Tom, "I believe so too; we get hup at six—too minutes hallowed to dress—then down to prayers. Billy Dixon gabbles them over fast enough, I can tell you. Old Brusher don't get hup imself so hearly."

"And who is Billy Dixon, dear?" said Cuthbert, in a tone of enquiry so pathetic, that, although he was my brother, I could scarcely help laughing.

"Billy Dixon," said Tom, "is one of the hushers: is name is Williams. All the chaps calls him Billy Dixon, just as they calls Opkins, the Hinglish husher, Snob. E reads the prayers; then we as to say the lessons what we learnt hover night; then them as is igh hup, does Hugh Clid and Matthew Mattocks. I'm not hin them yet. And we does ciphering till height; then we breakfasts, and after that, we goes into the back yard and washes our ands and faces; then hout agin into the play-ground till ten; then in agin till twelve; hout till dinner at one."

"And do you live well, my poor boy?" said Cuthbert.

"Lots of grub," said Tom, "sich as it is. Sundays we has baked beef—'long, bony bits— hunderdone—and plenty of ard pudden; Salur

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days, scrapings and stick-jaw. Hobliged to bolt all the fat, else we kitches toko. They gives us swipes for dinner and supper, with cheese as ard as hiron, hand as black has my at; but they tells us it's olesome."

"And does Dr. Brusher," said I, curious to ascertain the advantages which Tom derived from the tuition of so able a man, in return for sixty pounds a-year, and no extras—" does the Doctor attend much to your general conduct?"

"Yes," said Tom; "he reads lectures to us, and hexamines us in the hevenings."

"But I mean with regard to your manners and conversation," said I.

"Bush—he be smoked!" said Tom. "If E was to hinterfere with our big boys, they'd

'Send him to the chimney top to fetch away the bacon.'"

"What a droll creature you are!" said Cuthbert.

"Mother Bopps is very good-natured to some of the little chaps," continued the communicative pupil.

"And who may she be?" said Fanny Wells.

"Oh! Mother Brusher," said Tom; "but only we halways calls her Bopps. I don't know why ;—hit's halways bin so, afore I went."

"Ay, it is the nature of women to be kind," said Cuthbert, sighing.

"She takes care," said Tom, "that we wash our faces and ands Saturday nights, to be all nice and clean for church on Sunday morning."

"But I presume," said I, "you repeat your ablutions when you get up?"

"No we don't," said Tom; "we repeat the Colic of the day—the little uns does Cathekiss. As for our feet, we as 'em washed once a quarter."

"And in what," said I, perfectly astonished at the erudition, delicacy, and cleanliness of my young connexion, "in what does the Doctor examine you?"

"In the front parlour," said Tom.

"No," said I; "but I mean upon what subjects?"

"Oh!" said Tom; "E hasks hus hall maniier of rum questions hout of istory or the Dixonary."

"Well, now, shall / ask you some?" said I.

"Oh, don't give the poor boy any trouble in the holidays, Gilbert," said Cuthbert; "he is home for relaxation and amusement."

"Oh, but hi likes hit, Pa," said l orn.

"So do I," said Kitty; " I like to be examined. I have got two medals and 'Thomson's Seasons,' for prizes in jography."

"Well," said I, "Kitty, you shall join our class." So, taking up the newspaper which (as newspapers will do,) happened to lie upon the table, I asked my fair young friend where the Mediterranean was?

"In Asia, uncle," said Kitty, without the slightest hesitation.

"Oh, you fool 1" said Tom; "hi knows better than that; it's in America."

"But how do you get into it, Kitty?" said I.

"Through Behring's Straits," answered the young lady.

I stared, smiled, and proceeded.

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