bandy-ball, wrestling, leaping, and what not. The only misfortune is,
that having banished the birch, honest Slingsby has not studied Roger
Ascham sufficiently to find out a substitute, or rather he has not the
management in his nature to apply one; his school, therefore, though one
of the happiest, is one of the most unruly in the country; and never was
a pedagogue more liked, or less heeded, by his disciples than Slingsby.

He has lately taken a coadjutor worthy of himself, being another stray
sheep that has returned to the village fold. This is no other than the
son of the musical tailor, who had bestowed some cost upon his
education, hoping to see him one day arrive at the dignity of an
exciseman, or at least of a parish clerk. The lad grew up, however, as
idle and musical as his father; and, being captivated by the drum and
fife of a recruiting party, he followed them off to the army. He
returned not long since, out of money, and out at elbows, the prodigal
son of the village. He remained for some time lounging about the place
in half-tattered soldier's dress, with a foraging cap on one side of his
head, jerking stones across the brook, or loitering about the tavern
door, a burthen to his father, and regarded with great coldness by all
warm householders.

[Illustration: The Prodigal]

Something, however, drew honest Slingsby towards the youth. It might be
the kindness he bore to his father, who is one of the schoolmaster's
greatest cronies; it might be that secret sympathy, which draws men of
vagrant propensities towards each other; for there is something truly
magnetic in the vagabond feeling; or it might be, that he remembered the
time when he himself had come back, like this youngster, a wreck to his
native place. At any rate, whatever the motive, Slingsby drew towards