Master Arthur MacTurk was at the famous school of the Reverend Clement Coddler, along with a hundred and ten other young fashionables, from the age of three to fifteen; and to this establishment Jemmy sent our Tug, adding forty guineas to the hundred and twenty paid every year for the boarders.  I think I found out the dear soul’s reason; for, one day, speaking about the school to a mutual acquaintance of ours and the Kilblazes, she whispered to him that “she never would have thought of sending her darling boy at the rate which her next-door neighbors paid; their lad, she was sure, must be starved:  however, poor people, they did the best they could on their income!”

Coddler’s, in fact, was the tip-top school near London:  he had been tutor to the Duke of Buckminster, who had set him up in the school, and, as I tell you, all the peerage and respectable commoners came to it.  You read in the bill, (the snopsis, I think, Coddler called it,) after the account of the charges for board, masters, extras, &c.—­“Every young nobleman (or gentleman) is expected to bring a knife, fork, spoon, and goblet of silver (to prevent breakage), which will not be returned; a dressing-gown and slippers; toilet-box, pomatum, curling-irons, &c. &c.  The pupil must on no account be allowed to have more than ten guineas of pocket-money, unless his parents particularly desire it, or he be above fifteen years of age.  Wine will be an extra charge; as are warm, vapor, and douche baths.  Carriage exercise will be provided at the rate of fifteen guineas per quarter.  It is earnestly requested that no young nobleman (or gentleman) be allowed to smoke.  In a place devoted to the cultivation of polite literature, such an ignoble enjoyment were profane.

“Clement coddler, M. A.,

“Chaplain and late tutor to his Grace the Duke of Buckminster.

“Mount Parnassus, Richmond, Surrey.”

To this establishment our Tug was sent.  “Recollect, my dear,” said his mamma, “that you are a Tuggeridge by birth, and that I expect you to beat all the boys in the school; especially that Wellington MacTurk, who, though he is a lord’s son, is nothing to you, who are the heir of Tuggeridgeville.”

Tug was a smart young fellow enough, and could cut and curl as well as any young chap of his age:  he was not a bad hand at a wig either, and could shave, too, very prettily; but that was in the old time, when we were not great people:  when he came to be a gentleman, he had to learn Latin and Greek, and had a deal of lost time to make up for, on going to school.

However, we had no fear; for the Reverend Mr. Coddler used to send monthly accounts of his pupil’s progress, and if Tug was not a wonder of the world, I don’t know who was.  It was