The severities practised in Old Bob’s little kingdom, were not unattended with the effects which they sometimes have in larger monarchies. We had an under-master, whom I will call Bateson; a north-countryman, with a disgusting brogue, only less repulsive than his unwholesome looks and malicious temper. He was continually—as though from a savage delight—procuring some boy or other to be punished. Not long before my time, his conduct had created a regular rebellion. A conspiracy, headed by the senior boys, was formed against him. An opportunity was taken one evening when he was alone in the school. By an arrangement preconcerted with the ‘candle-custodes,’ most of the lights were extinguished. Books, ink-bottles, missiles of all kinds, were flung at his head. The larger boys set upon him and gave him a severe beating. Had not the school-door, which they had premeditatedly fastened, been forced upon, there is no knowing to what extent they would have maltreated him. As it was, he was shockingly bruised and disfigured. The expulsion of some of the ringleaders, and the flogging of several of the other rioters, was the issue of this transaction. Bateson, untaught by what he had suffered, continued to be as spiteful as ever. His delight was to give us tasks beyond our ability, that we might be chastised for not doing them; and he stimulated our exertions by menaces and abuse. Often did we vow to thrash this dull spiteful pedant, if we caught him anywhere after we should leave school; and some of us, I think, had left it a pretty long time before the resolution thus formed, was abandoned.