as i came into the play-grounds this morning, i saw a dashing young fellow, with a tanned face and a blonde moustache, who was walking up and down the green, arm-in-arm with champion major, and followed by a little crowd of boys.

they were talking of old times evidently. "what had become of irvine and smith?"—"where was bill harris and jones, not squinny jones, but cocky jones?"—and so forth. the gentleman was no stranger; he was an old pupil evidently, come to see if any of his old comrades remained, and to revisit the cari luogi of his youth.

champion was evidently proud of his arm-fellow. he espied his brother, young champion, and introduced him. "come here, sir," he called. "the young 'un wasn't here in your time, davison."

"pat, sir," said he, "this is captain davison, one of birch's boys. ask him who was among the first in the lines at sobraon?"

pat's face kindled up as he looked davison full in the face, and held out his hand. old champion and davison both blushed. the infantry set up a "hurray! hurray! hurray!" champion leading, and waving his wide-awake. i protest that the scene did one good to witness. here was the hero and cock of the school come back to see his old haunts and cronies. he had always remembered them. since he had seen them last, he had faced death and achieved honour. but for my dignity i would have shied up my hat too.

with a resolute step, and his arm still linked in champion's, captain davison now advanced, followed by a wake of little boys, to that corner of the green where mrs. buggies has her tart-stand.

"hullo, mother buggies! don't you remember me?" he said, and shook her by the hand.

"lor, if it ain't davison major!" she said. "well, davison major, you owe me fourpence for two sausage-rolls from when you went away."

davison laughed, and all the little crew of boys set up a similar chorus.

"i buy the whole shop," he said. "now, young 'uns—eat away!"

then there was such a "hurray! hurray!" as surpassed the former cheer in loudness. everybody engaged in it except piggy duff, who made an instant dash at the three-cornered puffs, but was stopped by champion, who said there should be a fair distribution. and so there was, and no one lacked, neither of raspberry open-tarts, nor of mellifluous bull's-eyes, nor of polonies, beautiful to the sight and taste.

the hurraying brought out the doctor himself, who put his hand up to his spectacles and started when he saw the old pupil. each blushed when he recognised the other; for seven years ago they had parted not good friends.

"what—davison?" the doctor said, with a tremulous voice. "god bless you, my dear fellow!"—and they shook hands. "a half-holiday, of course, boys," he added, and there was another hurray: there was to be no end to the cheering that day.

"how's—how's the family, sir?" captain davison asked.

"come in and see. flora's grown quite a lady. dine with us, of course. champion major, come to dinner at five. mr. titmarsh, the pleasure of your company?" the doctor swung open the garden-gate: the old master and pupil entered the house reconciled.

i thought i would just peep into miss raby's room, and tell her of this event. she was working away at her linen there, as usual, quiet and cheerful.

"you should put up," i said with a smile; "the doctor has given us a half-holiday."

"i never have holidays," miss raby replied.

then i told her of the scene i had just witnessed, of the arrival of the old pupil, the purchase of the tarts, the proclamation of the holiday, and the shouts of the boys of "hurray, davison."

"who is it?" cried out miss raby, starting and turning as white as a sheet.

i told her it was captain davison from india, and described the appearance and behaviour of the captain. when i had finished speaking, she asked me to go and get her a glass of water; she felt unwell. but she was gone when i came back with the water.

i know all now. after sitting for a quarter of an hour with the doctor, who attributed his guest's uneasiness no doubt to his desire to see miss laura birch, davison started up and said he wanted to see miss raby. "you remember, sir, how kind she was to my little brother," he said. whereupon the doctor, with a look of surprise that anybody should want to see miss raby, said she was in the little school-room, whither the captain went, knowing the way from old times.

a few minutes afterwards, miss b. and miss z. returned from a drive with plantagenet gaunt in their one-horse fly, and being informed of davison's arrival, and that he was closeted with miss raby in the little school-room, of course made for that apartment at once. i was coming into it from the other door. i wanted to know whether she had drunk the water.

this is what both parties saw. the two were in this very attitude. "well, upon my word!" cries out miss zoe, but davison did not let go his hold; and miss raby's head only sank down on his hand.

"you must get another governess, sir, for the little boys," frank davison said to the doctor. "anny raby has promised to come with me."

you may suppose i shut to the door on my side. and when i returned to the little school-room, it was blank and empty. everybody was gone. i could hear the boys shouting at play in the green, outside. the glass of water was on the table where i had placed it. i took it and drank it myself, to the health of anny raby and her husband. it was rather a choker.

but of course i wasn't going to stop on at birch's. when his young friends re-assemble on the 1st of february next, they will have two new masters. prince resigned too, and is at present living with me at my old lodgings at mrs. cammysole's. if any nobleman or gentleman wants a private tutor for his son, a note to the rev. f. prince will find him there.

miss clapperclaw says we are both a couple of old fools; and that she knew, when i set off last year to rodwell regis, after meeting the two young ladies at a party at general champion's house in our street, that i was going on a goose's errand. well, well, that journey is over now; i shall dine at the general's on christmas-day, where i shall meet captain and mrs. davison, and some of the old pupils of birch's; and i wish a merry christmas to them, and to all young and old boys.

the play is done; the curtain drops,

slow falling, to the prompter's bell:

a moment yet the actor stops,

and looks around, to say farewell.

it is an irksome word and task;

and when he 's laughed and said his say,

he shows, as he removes the mask,

a face that's anything but gay.

one word, ere yet the evening ends,

let's close it with a parting rhyme,

and pledge a hand to all young friends,

as fits the merry christmas-time.

on life's wide scene you, too, have parts,

that fate ere long shall bid you play;

good night! with honest gentle hearts

a kindly greeting go alway!

good night!—i'd say, the griefs, the joys,

just hinted in this mimic page,

the triumphs and defeats of boys,

are but repeated in our age.

i 'd say, your woes were not less keen,

your hopes more vain, than those of men;

your pangs or pleasures of fifteen,

at forty-five played o'er again.

i'd say, we suffer and we strive

not less nor more as men than boys;

with grizzled beards at forty-five,

as erst at twelve, in corduroys.

and if, in time of sacred youth,

we learned at home to love and pray,

pray heaven, that early love and truth

may never wholly pass away.

and in the world, as in the school,

i 'd say, how fate may change and shift;

the prize be sometimes with the fool,

the race not always to the swift.

the strong may yield, the good may fall,

the great man he a vulgar clown,

the knave be lifted over all,

the kind cast pitilessly down.

who knows the inscrutable design?

blessed be he who took and gave!

why should your mother, charles, not mine,

be weeping at her darling's grave? *

we bow to heaven that will'd it so,

that darkly rules the fate of all,

that sends the respite or the blow,

that's free to give or to recall.

this crowns his feast with wine and wit:

who brought him to that mirth aud state?

his betters, see, below him sit,

or hunger hopeless at the gate.

who bade the mud from dives' wheel

to spurn the rags of lazarus?

come, brother, in that dust we '11 kneel,

confessing heaven that ruled it thus.

* c. b., ob. 29 nov. 1848, set. 42.

so each shall mourn, in life's advance,

dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed;

shall grieve for many a forfeit chance,

and longing passion unfulfilled.

amen! whatever fate be sent,—

pray god the heart may kindly glow,

although the heart with cares be bent,

and whitened with the winter-snow.

come wealth or want, come good or ill,

let young and old accept their part,

and bow before the awful will,

and bear it with an honest heart.

who misses, or who wins the prize?

go, lose or conquer as you can:

but if you fail, or if you rise,

be each, pray god, a gentleman,

a gentleman, or old or young!

(bear kindly with my humble lays);

the sacred chorus first was sung

upon the first of christmas-days:

the shepherds heard it overhead—

the joyful angels raised it then:

glory to heaven 011 high, it said,

and peace 011 earth to gentle men.

my song, save this, is little worth;

i lay the weary pen aside,

and wish you health, and love, and mirth,

as fits the solemn christmas-tide.

as fits the holy christmas birth,

be this, good friends, our carol still—

be peace on earth, be peace on earth,

to men of gentle will.