"I say, Digby," cried a boy from the opposite side of the table, "they give you the credit of that cognomen--but we are all in the dark as to its origin."

"Like the origin of all truly great," answered Frank, "it was very simple: Churchill came one day to me with his usual 'Do tell us a bit, that's a good fellow,' and after he had badgered me some minutes, I asked him if he had not the smallest idea of his lesson--so, after looking at it another minute, he begins thus, '_Omnes_, all.' 'Bravo!'

replied I. '_Conticuere_--What's that, Frank?' 'Were silent,' I answered: 'Go on.' After deep cogitation, and sundry hints, he discovered that _tenebant_ must have some remote relationship to a verb signifying to hold fast, and forthwith a bright thought strikes him, and on we go: '_Intentique ora tenebant_--and intently they hold their oars,' he said, exultingly. 'Very well,' quoth I, approvingly, and continued for him, '_Inde toro pater_--the waters flowed glibly farther on, _ab alto_--to the music of the spheres; the inseparable Castor and Pollux looking down benignantly on their namesake below.' Here I was stopped by the innocent youth's remark, that I certainly was quizzing, for he knew that Castor and Pollux were the same in Latin as in English. Whereupon, I demanded, with profound gravity, whether _gemini_ did not mean twins, and if the twins were not Castor and Pollux--and if he knew (who knew so much better than I) whether or no there might not be some word in the Latin language, besides _gemini_, signifying twins; and that if it was his opinion that I was quizzing, he had better do his lesson himself. He looked hard, and, thinking I was offended, begged pardon; and believing that _jubes_ was Castor and Pollux, we got on quite famously--and he was quite rea.s.sured when we turned from the descriptive to the historical, beginning with _Aeneas sic orsus infandum_--Aeneas was such a horrid bear."

"Didn't you tell him of his mistake?" asked Louis, who could not help laughing.

"What! spoil the fun and the lesson I meant to give him?--not I."

"Well, what then, Frank?" said Reginald.

"Why, imagine old Whitworth's surprise, when, confident in the free translation of a first-cla.s.s man, Oars flowed on as glibly as the waters; Whitworth heard him to the end in his old dry way, and then asked him where he got that farrago of nonsense;--I think he was promoted to the society of dunces instanter, and learns either Delectus or Eutropius now. Of course, he never applied again to me."

Louis did not express his opinion that Frank was ill-natured, though he thought so, in spite of the hearty laugh with which his story was greeted. When he turned again to his lesson, he found his book had been abstracted.

"I tell you what," cried Reginald, fiercely, "I won't have Louis tormented--who has taken his book? It's you, Ferrers, I am sure."

"I! did you ever!" replied that young gentleman. "I appeal to you, Digby--did you see me touch his book?"

"I did not, certainly," said Frank.

"Give me the book," exclaimed Reginald, jumping upon the table, "give me the book, and let's have no more such foolery."

"Get down, Mortimer, you're not transparent," cried several voices.

Reginald, however, paid no attention to the command, but pouncing upon Ferrers at a vantage, threw him backwards off the form, tumbling over his prostrate foe, and in his descent bringing down books, inkstand, papers, and one of the candles, in glorious confusion.

"What's the row!" exclaimed Salisbury, adding an expression more forcible than elegant; and, starting from his seat, he pulled Reginald by main force from his adversary, with whom he was now struggling on the floor, and at the same instant the remaining candle was extinguished.

Louis was almost stunned by the noise that ensued: some taking his brother's part, and some that of Ferrers, while, in the dark, friend struggled and quarrelled with friend as much as foe, no one attempting to quell the tumult, until the door was suddenly burst open, and Hamilton with Trevannion and two or three from the school-room entered. Hamilton stood still for a moment, astonished by the unlooked-for obscurity. His entrance checked the combatants, who at first imagined that one of their masters had made his appearance, if that could be said to appear which was hardly discernible in the dim light which came through the half-open door. Hamilton begged one of the boys with him to fetch a light, and taking advantage of the momentary lull, he called out, "Is this Bedlam, gentlemen? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! What's the matter, Mortimer?"

"Oh!" replied Ferrers, "they've been teasing his little brother, and he can't abide it."

"I only mean to say, that Louis shan't be plagued in this manner,"

cried Reginald, pa.s.sionately; "and you know if the others were not here you wouldn't dare to do it, you bully!"

"For shame, Mortimer," said Hamilton, decidedly; and coming up to Reginald he drew him a little aside, not without a little resistance on Reginald's part--"What's the matter, Mortimer?"

"Matter! why that they are doing all they can to hinder Louis from knowing his lessons to-morrow. I won't stand it. He has borne enough of it, and patiently too."

"But is that any reason you should forget that you are a gentleman?"

said Hamilton.

"My book is here, dear Reginald," said Louis, touching his brother's shoulder.

Reginald darted a fierce glance at Ferrers, but not being able to substantiate an accusation against him, remained silent, and, under the eye of Hamilton and his friend Trevannion, the remainder of the evening pa.s.sed in a way more befitting the high places in the school which the young gentlemen held; but Louis had been so much interrupted, and was so much excited and unsettled by the noise and unwonted scenes, that when Dr. Wilkinson came at nine to read prayers, he had hardly prepared one of his lessons for the next day.

CHAPTER II.

Louis soon made himself a universal favorite among his school-fellows; and, though he was p.r.o.nounced by some to be a "softy," and by others honored by the equally comprehensive and euphonious t.i.tles of "spooney" and "m.u.f.f," there were few who were not won by his gentle good-nature, and the uniform good temper, and even playfulness, with which he bore the immoderate quizzing that fell to his lot, as a new boarder arrived in the middle of the half-year. If there were an errand to be run among the seniors, it was, "Louis Mortimer, will you get me this or that?" if a dunce wanted helping, Louis was sure to be applied to, with the certainty in both cases that the requests would be complied with, though they might, as was too often the case, interfere with his duties; but Louis had not courage to say _no_.

In proportion, however, as our hero grew in the good graces of his school-fellows, he fell out of those of his masters, for lessons were brought only half-learned, and exercises only half-written, or blotted and scrawled so as to be nearly unintelligible; and after he had been a fortnight at school, he seemed much more likely to descend to a lower cla.s.s than to mount a step in his own. Day after day saw Louis kept in the school-room during play-hours, to learn lessons which ought to have been done the night before, or to write out some long imposition as a punishment for some neglected duty that had given place to the desire of a.s.sisting another.

Louis always seemed in a hurry, and never did any thing well. His mind was unsettled, and, like every thing else belonging to him at present, in a state of undesirable confusion.

There was one resource which Louis had which would have set all to rights, but his weakness of disposition often prevented him from taking advantage of even the short intervals for prayer allowed by the rules of the school, and he was often urged at night into telling stories till he dropped asleep, and hurried down by the morning bell, before he could summon up courage to brave the remarks of his school-fellows as to his being so very _religious_, &c., and sometimes did not feel sorry that there was some cause to prevent these solemn and precious duties. I need not say he was not happy. He enjoyed nothing thoroughly; he felt he was not steadily in earnest. Every day he came with a beating heart to his cla.s.s, never certain that he could get through a single lesson.

One morning he was endeavoring to stammer through a few lines of some Greek play, and at last paused, unable to proceed.

"Well, sir," said his master quietly,--"as usual, I suppose--I shall give you only a few days' longer trial, and then, if you cannot do better, you must go down."

"Who is that, Mr. Danby?" said a voice behind Louis, that startled him, and turning his blanched face round, he saw Dr. Wilkinson standing near.

"Who is that, Mr. Danby?" he repeated, in a deep stern voice.

"Louis Mortimer, sir," replied Mr. Danby. "Either he is totally unfit for this cla.s.s, or he is very idle; I can make nothing of him."

Dr. Wilkinson fixed his eyes searchingly on Louis, and replied, in a tone of much displeasure:

"If you have the same fault to find the next two days, send him into a lower cla.s.s. It is the most disgraceful idleness, Louis."

Louis' heart swelled with sorrow and shame as the doctor walked away.

He stood with downcast eyes and quivering lids, hardly able to restrain his tears, until the cla.s.s was dismissed, and he was desired to stay in and learn his unsaid lesson.

Reginald followed his brother into the study, where Louis took his books to learn more quietly than he could do in the school-room.

"My dear Louis," he said, "you must try; the doctor will be so displeased if you go into a lower cla.s.s; and just think what a disgrace it will be."

"I know," said Louis, wiping his eyes: "I can't tell how it is, every thing seems to go wrong with me--I am not at all happy, and I am sure I wish to please everybody."

"A great deal too much, dear Louis," said Reginald. "You are always teaching everybody else, and you know you have scarcely any time for yourself. You must tell them you _won't_ do it; I can't be always at your elbow; I've quarrelled more with the boys than ever I did, since you came, on your account."

"Oh dear! I am sorry I came," sighed Louis, "I do so long to be a little quiet. Reginald, dear, I am so sorry I should give you any trouble. Oh, I have lost all my happy thoughts, and I know every thing is sure to go wrong."

Louis remained sadly silent for a few minutes, and then, raising his tearful eyes to his brother, who was sitting with his chin on his hands, watching him, he begged him to leave him, declaring he should not learn any thing while Reginald was with him.

Thus urged, Reginald took his departure, though, with his customary unselfish affection, he would rather have stayed and helped him.

When he was gone, Louis began slowly to turn over the leaves of his Lexicon, in order to prepare his lesson. He had not been long thus employed, when he was interrupted by the irruption of the greatest dunce in the school, introduced to the reader in the former chapter as Churchill, _alias_ Oars, a youth of fifteen, who had constant recourse to Louis for information. He now laid his dog's-eared Eutropius before Louis, and opened his business with his usual "Come now, tell us, Louis--help us a bit, Louis."

"Indeed, Harry, it is impossible," said Louis sorrowfully. "I have all my own to do, and if I do not get done before dinner I shall go into the third cla.s.s--no one helps me, you know."

"It won't take you a minute," said Churchill.

"It does take much more. You know I was an hour last night writing your theme; and, Churchill, I do not think it is right."

"Oh stuff! who's been putting that nonsense into your head?" replied Churchill. "It's all right and good, and like your own self, you're such a good-natured fellow."