l of myself.

I had looked forward to going to school with about equal measures of
delight and dread; my pride and ambition longed for this first step in
life, but Rupert had filled me with a wholesome awe of its stringent
etiquette, its withering ridicule, and unsparing severities. However,
in his anxiety to make me modest and circumspect, I think he rather
over-painted the picture, and when I got through the first day without
being bullied, and made such creditable friends on the second, I began
to think that Rupert's experience of school life must be due to some
lack of those social and conversational powers with which I seemed to
be better endowed. And then Weston's acting would have deceived a
wiser head than mine. And the nursemaids had always listened so
willingly!

As it happened, Rupert was unwell next day and could not go to
school. He was obviously afraid of my going alone, but I had no fears.
My self-satisfaction was not undone till playtime. Then not a boy
dispersed to games. They all gathered round Weston in the playground,
and with a confident air I also made my way to his side. As he turned
his face to me I was undeceived.

Weston was accustomed--at such times as suited his caprice and his
resources--to give exhibitions of his genius for mimicry to the rest
of the boys. I had heard from Rupert of these entertainments, which
were much admired by the school. They commonly consisted of funny
dialogues between various worthies of the place well known to
everybody, which made Weston's audience able to judge of the accuracy
of his imitations. From the head-master to the idiot who blew the
organ bellows in church, every inhabitant of the place who was gifted
with any recognizable peculiarity was personated at one time or
another by the wit of our school. The favourite imitation of all was
supposed to be one of the Dialogues of Plato, "omitted by some strange
over-sight in, the edition which graces the library of our learned and
respected doctor," Weston would say with profound gravity. The
Dialogue was between Dr. Jessop and Silly Billy--the idiot already
referred to--and the apposite Latin quotations of the head-master and
his pompous English, with the inapposite replies of the organ-blower,
given in the local dialect and Billy's own peculiar jabber, were
supposed to form a masterpiece of mimicry.

Little did I think that my family chronicle was to supply Weston with
a new field for his talents!

In the