n of the voices, and felt that at last I was a hero indeed.

I retain but a dim idea of what followed. I recollect a sooty sack
being drawn over my head, just as a general rush of servants and male
members of the family, alarmed by the hideous noise of the water-bottle
and fire-irons, rushed into the room. Then there was a pause, then a
babel of voice, and then, with a cuff on the outside of the sack next to
where my head was, the first burglar made a speech:--"I'm bust if I
sweeps yer chimbleys any more! This 'ere lunertick was handy the death
of Jemmy with his missals. Bust me! I'll summons the lot of yer, see
if I don't."

I will not pursue this melancholy episode, and as a veil was drawn over
me at the time, I will also draw a veil over what immediately ensued.
My visit to my uncle's terminated that day, and a few weeks later I saw
in the paper that he had been fined L5--for an assault committed by one
of his household on two sweeps.

After this I had not the heart to proceed to the last desperate
expedient for acquiring immortal fame. As long as my endeavours had
hurt only myself, it was not so bad, but when they recoiled on the heads
of my most important relatives I felt it time to draw the line. The
bullet may not yet be cast which my heroic bosom is to receive in the
stead of royalty, but I shall be ready for it when it is.

Meanwhile I have been cultivating the quieter graces of life, where, if
I may not be a hero, I may at least do my duty without making a noise.
I am not sure, when all is said and done, whether the two things are not
sometimes pretty much the same after all.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

THE HEROES OF NEW SWISHFORD. A SCHOOL EPISODE IN FOUR CHAPTERS.

Chapter I. Consultation.

The autumn term at Swishford School was more than half over, and boys
were waking up to the hope that after all the Christmas holidays, which
seemed such a way off six weeks ago, might yet arrive during their
lifetime. It was already rumoured that Blunt, the captain, had been
invited to spend Christmas at Walkenshaw's, the mathematical Dux's, and
every one knew how well Miss Walkenshaw and Blunt had "hit it" the last
prize day, and prophecies were rife accordingly. More than that,
Shanks, of the Fifth, had whispered in the ear of one or two bosom
friends, and thus into the ear of all Swishford, that he was going into
"swallows" this winter, and he had got down a book from town with
instructions for