OOSSY

IX

If the eyes of an old boy do not light up at the mention of "Moossy,"
then it is no use his pleading the years which have passed and the great
affairs which have filled his life; you know at once that he is an
impostor and has never had the privilege of passing through Muirtown
Seminary. Upon the genuine boy--fifty years old now, but green at
heart--the word is a very talisman, for at the sound of it the worries
of life and the years that have gone are forgotten, and the eyes light
up and the face relaxes, and the middle-aged man lies back in his chair
for the full enjoyment of the past. It was a rough life in the Seminary,
with plain food and strenuous games; with well-worn and well-torn
clothes; where little trouble was taken to give interest to your work,
and little praise awarded when you did it well; where you were bullied
by the stronger fellows without redress, and thrashed for very little
reason; where there were also many coarsenesses which were sickening at
the time to any lad with a sense of decency, and which he is glad, if he
can, to forget; but, at least, there was one oasis in the wilderness
where there was nothing but enjoyment for the boys, and that was the
"Department of Modern Languages," over which Moossy was supposed to
preside.

Things have changed since Moossy's day, and now there is a graduate of
the University of Paris and a fearful martinet to teach young Muirtown
French, and a Heidelberg man with several degrees and four swordcuts on
his face to explain to Muirtown the mysteries of the German sentence.
Indignant boys, who have heard appetising tales of the days which are
gone, are compelled to "swat" at Continental tongues as if they were
serious languages like Latin and Greek, and are actually kept in if they
have not done a French verb. They are required to write an account of
their holidays in German, and are directed to enlarge their vocabulary
by speaking in foreign tongues among themselves. Things have come to
such a pass it is said--but I do not believe one word of this--that the
modern Speug, before he pulls off the modern Dowbiggin's bonnet and
flings it into the lade, which still runs as it used to do, will be
careful to say "_Erlauben Sie mir_," and that the modern Dowbiggin,
before rescuing his bonnet, will turn and inquire with mild surprise,
"_Was wollen Sie, mein Freund?_" and precocious lads will delight their
parents at the breakfast-table by asking for their d