“Well, sir, to my tale.—There stood I, an anxious and trembling little boy, for the first time in my life at the door of a school. What a large and awful place I thought it! The very outside frightened me almost beyond endurance, and then, I thought, what is going on within! My fears were more than realized on entrance; for the first thing that caught my eye was the head master himself,—old Bowman, sitting in awful state at the head of the school, with a great buzz wig on his head, and a most formidable ferula lying on the desk before him. The old oak benches, cut and carved with names, some of which, insignificant as they then were, are now recorded in the history of our country, seemed formidable in my eyes, as compared with the smaller articles of the same kind in my own home; and the sight of so many boys all gathered together, and all busy at their own occupations, made my poor little head almost spin round in confusion. I and my companions were, of course, as new comers, placed on the lowest form, and had to wait our turn to be called upon by the master of the lower school. During that time I had leisure to look around me, which I did with fear and trembling. At the head of the school, next to the master, sat Joshua Prince, of whom I had often heard as the first boy in the school, and a great favourite with the master. With what a feeling of admiration did I regard him! He was the son of a miller in the neighbourhood; but having shown great talents in early life, his parents determined to give him a good education and send him to college, in hopes that he might hereafter rise to eminence and distinction. Nor did he disappoint their expectations. He carried off the highest honours of his university, and is now one of the proudest boasts of Hawkshead school—thanks to good old archbishop Sandys for having built and endowed it! I don’t know how it is, sir, but I am as proud of Joshua Prince, and my old school, as if I had succeeded like Joshua in the world, instead of being what I am! Well, at last we were called up; and never shall I forget the anxiety of that moment! Of course, I was at the bottom of my class, and some boys much older and bigger than myself were at the top. But I now found the advantage of my good mother’s early care, and soon discovered that I was by no means the worst scholar among them. At last we came to spelling:—‘Spell _kingdom_,’ said the master to the first boy in the class, in a voice of thunder.—‘K, i, n, d, o, m,’ said the boy; (and that boy, you must know, was Tom Hebblethwaite, the very person whom you saw last summer cutting off the old cock’s tail—I dare say he was thinking of me at the very time)—‘k, i, n, d, o, m,’ said Tom: ‘_g_,’ exclaimed I from the bottom of the class. ‘That’s right,’ said the master, ‘stand up!’ So there was I, raised at once from the bottom to the top, covered with glory! Tom made room for me very slowly, but the eye of the master was upon him, and he gave way.