The master tore open his waistcoat to ascertain where he was shot, and then seized his cane; for some minutes I dodged under the table and over the stools, but caught it at last. I was unable to sit, and so went to bed. My father had in his possession a letter from the Rev. James Wood, stating that I had fired a gun at him, and that “Mr. Thomas” had thrown a slate at his head divested of its frame! The following half, as the warm weather approached, I succeeded in finding where the master kept his hair-powder, and with it mixed some finely pounded sugar. On coming into school, the flies soon found him, and as he got warm his head became black instead of white. This little game exceeded my expectations, as, irritated beyond endurance, he dismissed us from school. Among our playfellows was a Norfolk neighbour, Edward Gurdon, who sang well and tried to teach me! [Sidenote: 1819.] Our sister Sophia, who married Sir James Macdonald, lived not far from Needham. They drove over to take us to the launch of a ship at Aldborough. On the return journey, I in the gig, driven by the coachman following the phaeton, ran foul of a fish-cart, and broke the shaft. I was pitched on to the back of the horse, slipped down the trace, and found my way to the phaeton. The coachman had been taking his tea too strong. At the back of the schoolhouse was a gable-end, up which a pear-tree had long before been trained. The trunk stood some six feet from the wall; a pathway which led to the stables ran parallel, on the outer side of which were pointed rails. On top of these, thin planks placed edgeways, up which jasmine was trained. One afternoon a ball with which we had been playing lodged in the upper part of the gable-end. I succeeded in reaching the ball, when the branch gave way, and I descended with it in one hand and the ball in the other; the only things that partially checked my fall were the planks. I came down impaled on the spiked rails! A messenger was despatched to Quidenham; but there were plenty of us: nobody came. We looked forward to our Christmas holidays. My father kept a pack of beagles, much to our delight as well as that of our neighbours, the Surtees and Partridges, both large families and sporting, who, with many others, made our meets very cheery. Hares there were in plenty. We boys had clever ponies. Mine, Pio Mingo, was peculiar-looking--white, with black spots, bushy mane and tail; showed a good deal of the white of her eye. The like of her might have been found at Astley’s. Both ponies were undeniably clever at finding their way across ditches and through fences, and generally much nearer the hounds than pleased old Capes, the huntsman. Most of the hounds, while running, preferred the furrows to the open plough, as did Mingo, much to the grief of poor little Dancer, Rattler, and others.