ir shelves peacefully for
ever, for once became lively, and made an impression. I must do Mr
Root the justice to say, that he bore him gallantly in the _melee_. His
white and black head popped hither and thither, and the smack of his
whip resounded horribly among the shins of his foes.

Old Reynolds, not, even in battle, being able to resist the inveteracy
of habit, had the contents of his large snuff-mull forced into his eyes,
ere twenty strokes were struck. He ran roaring and prophecying, like
blind Tiresias, among both parties, and, as a prophet, we respected him.
The French master being very obese, was soon borne down, and there he
lay sprawling and calling upon glory and _la belle France_, whilst both
sides passed over him by turns, giving him only an occasional kick when
they found him in their way. It is said of Mr Simpson, the
mathematical master,--but I will not vouch for the truth of the account
for it seems too Homeric,--that being hard pressed, he seized and lifted
up the celestial globe, wherewith to beat down his opponents; but being
a very absent man, and the ruling passion being always dreadfully strong
upon him, he began, instead of striking down his adversaries, to solve a
problem upon it, but, before he had found the value of a single tangent,
the orb was beaten to pieces about his skull, and he then saw more stars
in his eyes than ever twinkled in the Milky Way. In less than two
minutes, Mr Root to his crest added _gules_--his nose spouted blood,
his eyes were blackened, and those beautiful teeth, of which he was so
proud, were alarmingly loosened.

For myself I did not do much--I could not--I could not for very rapture.
I danced and shouted in all the madness of exhilaration. I tasted
then, for the first time, the fierce and delirious poison of contention.
Had the battle-cry been "A Rattlin!" instead of "A Saint Albans!" I
could not have been more elated. The joy of battle to the young heart
is like water to the sands of the desert--which cannot be satiated.

In much less than three minutes the position under the gallery was
carried. Root and the masters made good their retreat through the door,
and barricaded it strongly on the outside--so that if we could boast of
having barred him out, he could boast equally of having barred us in.
We made three prisoners, Mr Reynolds, Mr Moineau, and a lanky,
sneaking, turnip-complexioned under-usher, who used to write execrable
verses to the sickly h