erefore, for the first time, we breakfasted in
different rooms. Each now commenced this repast with feelings far from
cheerful. The anger of the moment having passed away, there remained
no sense of enmity between us; and yet, in an hour or two, we were to
meet again, like a couple of dogs, and mangle each other as we best
might.

Kennedy could not but feel that he was not only the strongest, but had
actually been more prevalent in the contest than myself; nor did he,
on this account, congratulate himself, when he reflected that the
appointed hour was fast approaching when he must do his best to thrash
me still more. The sole thought that weighed on my mind, was that of
having quarrelled with a fellow whom I liked far beyond myself. At
this moment the door opened, and Kennedy, placing his rolls and butter
on the table, stretched his hand across it towards me, and the next,
we were sipping our tea together out of the pewter salt-cellar, with
no farther traces of enmity, save the three unequivocal black eyes we
retained between us.

This subject reminds me of a very melancholy one which I witnessed
several years afterwards; and as I have heard it discussed so
frequently, and so erroneously, I cannot help wishing, if possible, to
give a concise and true statement of the case. In the instance alluded
to, the contest might be said to have terminated with no unusual
consequences, for the clock had struck the hour in which it was
imperative for every one of us to be in his dames for the night, and
the combatants were in the act of putting on their coats, and all
would have been well, had not a voice, which I distinctly recollect,
exclaimed, "One more round!" Whichever had now declined would have
been considered as vanquished: they closed, struggled for the fall,
and the fall was fatal. The sole cause of this miserable catastrophe
was that voice of a mere bystander, and of this he must be as sensible
as I am. I know not who he may be, nor do I envy him his secret.

It was now getting towards the latter end of July, and I had been an
Etonian nearly three months. During this time I had experienced a fair
average of fighting, bullying, fagging, and flogging, and had also
acquired some useful accomplishments. I could paddle my skiff up to
Surly Hall and back, swim across the river at Upper Hope, and had even
begun to get in debt, having some weeks ago "gone tick" with Joe Hyde
for a couple of bottles of ginger-beer, with the pro