that of man,—­the grand Barkerian idea of how to fix it in a boy’s memory was to send him to bed, or excoriate his palm.  If religion and polite learning could have been communicated by sheets, like chicken-pox, or blistered into one like the stern but curative cantharides, Mr. Barker’s boys would have become the envy of mankind and the beloved of the gods; but not even Little Briggs died young from the latter or any other cause, which speaks volumes for his constitution....

The two Misses Moodle came to establish a young ladies’ seminary in the village of Mungerville, on whose outskirts our own school was situated, bringing along with them, as the county paper stated, “that charming atmosphere of refinement and intellectuality in which they ever moved”; and, what was of more consequence, a capital of twenty girls to start with.  Professional politeness inspired Mr. Barker to make a call on the fair strangers, which the personal fascinations of the younger Miss Moodle induced him to repeat.  The atmosphere of refinement and intellectuality gradually acted on him in the nature of an intoxicating gas, until at length, after twenty-five years of successfully intrenched widowhood, he laid his heart in the mits of the younger Miss Moodle, and the two became one Barker.

As a consequence of this union, social relations began to be established between the two schools.  Mrs. Barker, of an occasional evening, wished to run down and visit her sister.  If Mr. Barker was engaged in quarrying a page of Cicero out of some stony boy in whom nature had never made any Latin deposit, or had just put a fresh batch of offenders into the penal oven of untimely bed, and felt compelled to run up now and then to keep up the fire under them, by a harrowing description of the way their parents would feel if they knew of their behavior—­an instrument dear to Mr. Barker as a favorite poker to a boss-baker in love with his profession—­then, after a clucking noise, indicative of how much he would like to chuck her under the chin, but for the presence of company, Mr. Barker would coo to Mrs. Barker, “Lovey, your pick, sweet!” waving his hand comprehensively over the whole school-room; or “Dear, suppose we say Briggs, or Chunks, or Thirlwall,” as the case might be.  The only difficulty about Briggs was clothes.  That used to be obviated by a selection from the trunks of intimate friends; and Briggs was such a nice boy, that it was a real gratification to see him with your best jacket on.  Many’s the time the old fellow has said to Chunks or me, “What a blessing that I grew!  If I hadn’t, how could I ever wear your trousers?” In process of time these occasional visits, as escort to Mrs. Barker, expanded into an attendance of all the older boys (when not in bed for moral baking purposes) upon a series of bi-monthly soirees, given by the remaining Miss Moodle, with a superficial view to her pupils’ attainment of ease in society; and a material substratum of sandwiches, which Miss Moodle preferred to see,