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The RUTHIN Illustrated Magazine & host ELY mmm&h worn &hh cl&sses. To Inform. To Instruct. To Amuse. - No. 25. Vol. HI. FEBRUARY, 1881. TWO PENCE. A REMINISCENCE OF RUTHIN SCHOOL. " You will sit here, and this will be your locker." I was a " new boy," and these were the first words that were spoken to me on my advent into the school. After a brief examination in the head master's study—during which I remember my heart beating as if it would break itself—it was decided that I should commence my scholastic career in the "lower first," and accordingly I took my seat there as directed, looking (if one is to judge of one's looks by one's feelings) as miserable as a wretch under the gibbet. It was the first day of the Winter term (or "half" as it was called then) and nearly the whole of the morning was taken up in arranging the work of the next four months. On my right sat a boy with a very pale face (I shall never forget how hard and un¬ comfortable the oak seat on which I was sitting eeemed to me that day) and eyes that might have belonged to a Gazelle, they were so lustrous and expressive. On my left sat another boy, with a head of dishevelled mouse-coloured curls, a pair of very dirty hands, and an equally dirty neck. He was busily engaged covering some new books with the pages of an old copy book, and seemed to be lost to everything and everybody save his work and himself. So far nothing had been given me to do, so I amused myself by taking stock of the school room, and watching the movements of the boys. A group of the latter stood at one of the centre desks, engaged in a heated conversation, each of them carrying a bundle of books under his arm. " Jones, it's no use of jawing," eaid one of them, " this locker's mine, and I mean to stick to it." (I should mention that in the two centre desks there were " lockers," or desks, for the purpose of keeping books, etc., which the boarders claimed the exclusive right to tenant.) The boy addressed to, however, could not be pre¬ vailed upon to believe anything of the sort, and he replied pretty sharply that, "jaw or no jaw," nobody but himself should tenant that locker. The discussion might have lasted as long as the late Irish debate in the Commons had not one of the Masters interfered with, " now, if you boys want a hundred lines each------," but they were all in their seats before the sentence was finished. The fourth master's desk was literally besieged with boys, who were simultaneously clamouring for exercise books, copy books, pencils, peas, paper, and all manner of things. In the second and third forms the boys were mostly engaged in arranging their lockers, whilst the " giants " of the Upper School (and they were giants in those days) stood here and there in groups, no doubt relating in glowing terms the adventures of the past holidays. Suddenly the boy on my right spoke to me. " Are you a new boy ?" he asked. I replied that I was. " Day-boy or boarder ?" he asked again. " Day-boy," said I. " Ah, you are lucky," he exclaimed, "lama boarder ; I came last night, and feel so miserable to-day that I don't know what to do with myself." " What are you two kids jawing about ?" saucily asked the fellow with the head of dishevelled mouse- coloured curls, at the same time digging his elbow into my ribs. " Don't you know it's a sin to talk during hours, and that I have the power to report you ?" I said something, but what, I forget—at all events it was something that made the fellow laugh most heartily. " What's your name butter- head ?" he asked, obliging me with an other dig in my ribs. " My name's not butter-head," said I, rather hotly, " My name's------, and I'll thank you to keep your elbows to yourself." " Leave him alone," whispered the boy on my right, " he'll only get worse if you answer him./ " Who sharpened your tongue for you Master Butter-head ?" went on my tormentor, giving my leg a pinch. Just then I was called up by the fourth master to give him a list of the books I required, and so for a time I escaped further tor- tare at the hands of the young gentleman with the head of dishevelled mouse-coloured curls, whose name I shortly afterwards found out was F------. Our form only did a little dictation that morning, and at one o'clock the school was dismissed for the day, and so the first public event of my life came to an end. As I write now, anl turn my thoughts back to that August morning—to the school room, the throng of happy faces, and merry hearts, and the thousand and one bright memories associated with them—I wonder how many of us will ever meet again in the scattered paths of this wide world. Octavius Obagle.