gaze upon the gallipots and broken retorts, at the second story window, you have pondered, in your boyish way, upon the inscrutable wonders of Science, and the ineffable dignity of Dr. Bidlow's brick school! Dr. Bidlow seems to you to belong to a race of giants; and yet he is a spare, thin man, with a hooked nose, a large, flat, gold watch-key, a crack in his voice, a wig, and very dirty wristbands. Still you stand in awe at the mere sight of him;—an awe that is very much encouraged by a report made to you by a small boy,—that "Old Bid" keeps a large ebony ruler in his desk. You are amazed at the small boy's audacity: it astonishes you that any one who had ever smelt the strong fumes of sulphur and ether in the Doctor's room, and had seen him turn red vinegar blue, (as they say he does) should call him "Old Bid!"
You, however, come very little under his control: you enter upon the proud life, in the small boy's department,—under the dominion of the English master. He is a different personage from Dr. Bidlow: he is a dapper, little man, who twinkles his eye in a peculiar fashion, and who has a way of marching about the school-room with his hands crossed behind him, giving a playful (illegible text) to his coat-tails. He wears a pen tucked behind his ear: his hair is carefully set up
