(_Jones Minimus passes, laden with tarts._) [Illustration: 0062] _Duval_. Hullo! you small boy with the tarts! Come here, Sir. _Jones Minimus_. Please, Duval, they ain't mine. _Duval._ O you abominable young story-teller. [He confiscates the goods. I think I like young Duval's mode of levying contributions better than Bullock's. The former's, at least, has the merit of more candour. Duval is the pirate of Birch's, and lies in wait for small boys laden with money or provender. He scents plunder from afar off: and pounces out on it. Woe betide the little fellow when Duval boards him! There was a youth here whose money I used to keep, as he was of an extravagant and weak disposition; and I doled it out to him in weekly shillings, sufficient for the purchase of the necessary tarts. This boy came to me one day for half a sovereign, for a very particular purpose, he said. I afterwards found he wanted to lend the money to Duval. The young ogre burst out laughing, when in a great wrath and fury I ordered him to refund to the little boy: and proposed a bill of exchange at three months. It is true Duval's father does not pay the Doctor, and the lad never has a shilling, save that which he levies; and though he is always bragging about the splendour of Freenystown, Co. Cork, and the fox-hounds his father keeps, and the claret they drink there--there comes no remittance from Castle Freeny in these bad times to the honest Doctor, who is a kindly man enough, and never yet turned an insolvent boy out of doors. THE DORMITORIES. _MASTER HEWLETT AND MASTER NIGHTINGALE._ (Rather a cold winter night.) _Hewlett (flinging a shoe at Master Nightingale's bed, with which he hits that young gentleman.)_ Hullo! You! Get up and bring me that shoe. [Illustration: 0066] _Nightingale._ Yes, Hewlett. _(He gets up.)_ _Hewlett_. Don't drop it, and be very careful of it, Sir. _Nightingale_. Yes, Hewlett. _Hewlett_. Silence in the Dormitory! Any boy who opens his mouth I'll murder him. Now, Sir, are not you the boy what can sing? _Nightingale_. Yes, Hewlett. _Hewlett_. Chaunt then till I go to sleep, and if I wake when you stop, you 'll have this at your head. [Master Hewlett lays his Bluchers on the bed, ready to shy at Master Nightingale's head in the case contemplated. _Nightingale (timidly.)_ Please, Hewlett? _Hewlett_. Well, Sir. _Nightingale_. May I put on my trowsers, please? _Hewlett. No_, Sir. Go on, or I '11-- _Nightingale_, "Through pleasures and palaces Though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, There's no place like home. "Home, home! sweet, sweet home! There's no place like ho-ome! There's no place like home!" (Da Capo.) A CAPTURE AND A RESCUE. [Illustration: 0070]