Mr Root was capricious. Sometimes he wore his own handsome head well powdered; at others, curled without powder; at others, straight, without powder or curls. He was churchwarden; and then, when his head was full of his office, it was also full of flour, and full of ideas of his own consequence and infallibility. On a concert night, and in the ball-room, it was curled, and then it was full of amatory conquests; and, as he was captain in the Cavalry Volunteers, on field days his hair was straight and lank--martial ardour gave him no time to attend to the fripperies of the coxcomb. These are but small particulars, but such are very important in the character of a great man. With his hair curled, he was jocular, even playful; with it lank, he was a great disciplinarian--had military subordination strong in respect--and the birch gyrated freely; but when he was full blown in powder, he was unbearable,--there was then combined all the severity of the soldier and the dogmatism of the pedagogue, with the self-sufficiency and domineering nature of the coxcomb and churchwarden. On the memorable fifth of November, Mr Root appeared in the school-room, with his hair elaborately powdered. The little boys trembled. Lads by fifteens and twenties wanted to go out under various pretences. The big boys looked very serious and very resolved. It was twelve o'clock, and some thirty or forty--myself always included--were duly flogged, it being "his custom at the hour of noon." When the periodical operation was over, at which there was much spargefication of powder from his whitened head, he commanded silence. Even the flagellated boys contrived to hush up their sobs, the shuffling of feet ceased, those who had colds refrained from blowing their noses; and, after one boy was flogged for coughing, he thus delivered himself:-- "Young gentlemen, it has been customary--customary it has been, I say-- for you to have permission to make a bonfire in the lower field, and display your fireworks, on this anniversary of the fifth of November. Little boys, take your dictionaries, and look out for the word `anniversary.'" A bustle for the books, while Mr Root plumes himself, and struts up and down. Two boys fight for the same dictionary; one of them gets a plunge on the nose, which makes him cry out--he is immediately horsed, and flogged for speaking; and, rod in hand, Mr Root continues:-- "Young gentlemen, you know my method--my method is well known to you, I say,--to join amusement with instruction. Now, young gentlemen, the great conflagration--tenth, ninth, and eighth forms, look out the word `conflagration'--the great conflagration, I say, made by this pyrotechnic display--seventh, sixth, and fifth forms, turn up the word `pyrotechnic.' Mr Reynolds (the head classical master,) you will particularly oblige me by not taking snuff in that violent way whilst I am speaking, the sniffling is abominable."