Louis' School Days Part 1

Louis' School Days.

by E. J. May.

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 a.s.sured 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 ill.u.s.trating 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 pa.s.s, 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 G.o.d; 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 G.o.d 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 l.u.s.tre; 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 pa.s.sages 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 f.a.g 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 const.i.tuted 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 cla.s.sical 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.