best we parted, you and I; so, Fate,
Baulked of her double prey, may seek in vain,
And miss us both upon the shadowy plain.

The writer of Number 8 I always suspected of being a borrower of other
people's ideas. In fact it seemed as if he must have had "A Thousand
and One Gems" open before him while he was at work, and to have drawn
liberally from its pages.

The way was long, the night was cold,
And Jack and Jill were young and bold.
"Try not the hill," the old man said,
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead."
A voice replied far up the height,
"We've many a step to walk this night."
Ah, luckless speech! ah, bootless boast!
Two minutes more and they were lost.
Who would not weep for Jack and Jill?
They died, though much against their will.
And the birds of the air all fell sobbing and sighing
As they heard of these two unfortunates dying.

The concluding line (which was the only original one in the poem) was
specially weak, and Number 8, I observe, only received one vote, and
that was probably given by himself.

But, for originality and humour, Number 9's version was the most
distinguished of the lot. With it I conclude, and if I may express an
unbiassed opinion, many years after the memorable contest, I consider it
far and away the best version of the story of Jack and Jill I have ever
met with.

Jack and Jill
Went up a hill
To fetch a pail of water,
Jack fell down
And broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Sub-Chapter I.

EIGHTEEN HOURS WITH A "KID."

_[Copy of a holiday letter from Gus. Cutaway, of the Upper Remove,
Shellboro', to his particular chum and messmate. Joseph Rackett]_:--

Dear Jossy,--If you want a motto in life, I'll give you one--"'Ware
kids!" Don't you have anything to do with kids, unless you want to lose
all your pocket money, and be made a fool of before the fellows, and get
yourself in a regular high old mess all round.

You needn't think I don't know what I'm talking about. I do. Promise
you'll never say a word to anybody, especially to any of the fellows,
and I'll tell you.

It was on breaking-up day. You know, all of you went off by the 2
train, and I had to wait till the 3:15. That's the worst of going
through London; the trains never go at the right time. It came in up to
time, for a wonder, and I bagged a second-class carriage to myself, and
laid in some grub and a _B.O.P._ and made up my mind