days appeared very grand, and No. 6 ward usually carried off the palm in these exhibitions. The sheet of characters which usually accompanied the cakes was not drawn for, as is customary on Twelfth-night, but saved until after the feast, and then cut out, forming a very amusing game, and played by two: they were dealt out like a pack of cards, in two equal shares, the party not dealing first laid a character upon the table; this was followed by one from the other player, and then came the question of precedence: while Colonel Firebrace took Corporal Trotter, all went well; but when Billy Barlow and Johnny Jones fell together, who was to decide? and thus the game sometimes terminated abruptly, neither party liking to yield to the other. Supper-time arrived, a gay scene greeted the visitor in the place where each boy sat, on the snow-white tablecloth was placed his cake, and beside it a knife, which he longed to put in use: in the centre of the table, the largest cake was elevated above the others, and

around it a guard of honour, that is, four gigantic candles, which blazed away as though aware of the position they held. Dried fruits, with apples and oranges, graced the festive board, the peel of which was covetously hoarded for ammunition in the coming fray. Grace being said, knives went to work, and found their duties no sinecure. Kings were hurled from the thrones they had occupied, and thrust into our pockets, there to receive a closer scrutiny, on the first convenient opportunity, from the owners of cakes, who were afraid lest in their haste they should have overlooked any portion of the "sweet" adhering thereto. The boys who had shared their presents at Christmas with their companions, now received an equivalent, and mirth and jollity were the guests of all. Homemade wines of every description were plentiful at our table, from the pale gooseberry to the highcoloured elderberry, which the nurse, however, under whose custody it was, dealt out sparingly: who then will be surprised that as the evening

N

waned our noise became louder? Foe met foe in the field of battle, and the vollies of welldirected orange-peel often worked destruction in the ranks of our opponents. About ten the bell summoned us once more to slumber, when we all agreed that

"Twelfth-night came as other nights,

And, like them, passed away."

By way of postscript to this chapter, I may state that the celebration of Twelfth-night has passed away from Hertford; and it gives me regret to learn that this has been brought about through the instrumentality of a member of that Establishment, formerly a Blue-coat Boy himself. Christmas-night alone remains. May it long stand against the attack of the innovator, and the merry voice of the Blue-coat Boy be raised for centuries to come in joy and exultation on that festival!

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CHAPTER XVI.

"Disasters-do the best we can-
Will reach both great and small,
And he must lead a charmed life,
Who flies and leaves them all."

OLD VERSION.

THE first year of my stay at Hertford soon slipped round, during which time I had been cured of all home-sick feelings, and became inured to the roughness of my play-fellows. I was never happier; and even at a distance of fourteen years, I pronounce the term of my noviciate at Hertford one of the most delightful periods of my existence.

The second year partook of the same routine as the first, enlivened by an occasional tea-party at the house of the matron, Mrs. Moore, who well knew the keen appetite which usually

attends the schoolboy at whatever table he may be a guest; for she was never chary of her buns and cakes, which, on these occasions, vanished from sight in rather a mysterious manner. An occasional dinner with the nurse, whenever a present was sent from home, contributed still further to vary the routine of our first year's sojourn in the Establishment.

Fortune smiled upon me during my first two years of study, but on the commencement of the third, I was destined to experience a reverse. The ring-worm unfortunately broke out at Hertford; and this distemper may be said to be as intimately connected with the history of that Establishment, as "the plague of London," forms an epoch in the annals of the great metropolis. It is a source of much joy, however, to know that it has long since abated in virulence, and through the progress of medical science is now rarely to be met with in the school. At the period of which I speak, one boy was found to be afflicted with the scourge: he was