ing "odd or even" under the master's eye; eating apples openly and without rebuke; pinching each other in sport or +malice, without the least reserve; and cutting their initials in the very legs of his desk. The puzzled dunce, who stood beside it to say his lesson "off the book," looked no longer at the ceiling for forgotten words, but drew closer to the master's elbow, and boldly cast his eye upon the page; the wag of the little troop squinted and made grimaces (at the smallest boy, of course), holding no book before his face, and his approving companions knew no constraint in their delight. If the master did chance to rouse himself, and seem alive to what was going on, the noise subsided for a moment, and no eye met his, but wore a studious and deeply humble look; but the instant he relapsed again, it broke out afresh, and ten times louder than before.

6. Oh! how some of those idle fellows longed to be outside, and how they looked at the open door and window, as if they half *meditated rushing violently out, plunging into the woods, and being wild boys and savages from that time forth. What rebellious thoughts of the cool river, and some shady bathing-place, beneath willow trees with branches dipping in the water, kept tempting and urging that sturdy boy, who, with his shirt-collar unbuttoned, and flung back as far as it could go, sat fanning his flushed face with a spellingbook, wishing himself a whale, or a minnow, or a fly, or any thing but a boy at school, on that hot, broiling day.

7. Heat! ask that other boy, whose seat being nearest to the door, gave him opportunities of gliding out into the garden, and driving his companions to madness, by dipping his face into the bucket of the well, and then rolling on the grass, ask him if there was ever such a day as that, when even the bees were diving deep down into the cups of the flowers, and stopping there, as if they had made up their minds to retire from business, and be manufacturers of honey no more. The day was made for laziness, and lying on one's back in green places, and staring at the sky, till its bright ness forced the gazer to shut his eyes and go to sleep. And was this a time to be poring over musty books in a dark room, slighted by the very sun itself? Monstrous!

8. The lessons over, writing time began. This was a more

quiet time; for the master would come and look over the writer's shoulder, and mildly tell him to observe how such a letter was turned up, in such a copy on the wall, which had been written by their sick companion, and bid him take it as a model. Then he would stop and tell them what the sick child had said last night, and how he had longed to be among them once again; and such was the poor schoolmaster's gentle and affectionate manner, that the boys seemed quite remorseful that they had worried him so much, and were absolutely quiet; eating no apples, cutting no names, and making no grimaces for full two minutes afterward.

9. "I think, boys," said the school-master, when the clock struck twelve, "that I shall give you an extra half-holiday this afternoon." At this intelligence, the boys, led on and headed by the tall boy, raised a great shout, in the midst of which the master was seen to speak, but could not be heard. As he held up his hand, however, in token of his wish that they should be silent, they were considerate enough to leave off, as soon as the longest-winded among them were quite out of breath. "You must promise me, first," said the school-master, "that you'll not be noisy, or at least, if you are, that you '11 go away first, out of the village, I mean. I'm sure you would n't disturb your old playmate and companion."

10. There was a general murmur (and perhaps a very sincere one, for they were but boys), in the negative; and the tall boy, perhaps as sincerely as any of them, called those about him to witness, that he had only shouted in a whisper. "Then pray do n't forget, there's my dear scholars," said the school-master, "what I have asked you, and do it as a favor to me. Be as happy as you can, and do n't be unmindful that you are blessed with health. Goodby, all."

11. "Thank 'ee, sir," and "Good-by, sir," were said a great many times in a great variety of voices, and the boys went out very slowly and softly. But there was the sun shining, and there were birds singing, as the sun only shines, and the birds only sing, on holidays and half-holidays; there were the trees waving to all free boys to climb, and nestle among their leafy branches; the hay, entreating them to

come and scatter it to the pure air; the green corn, gently beckoning toward wood and stream; the smooth ground, rendered smoother still by blending lights and shadows, inviting to runs and leaps, and long walks, nobody knows whither. It was more than boy could bear, and with a joyous whoop, the whole cluster took to their heels, and spread themselves about, shouting and laughing as they went. ""Tis natural, thank Heaven!" said the poor school-master, looking after them: "I am very glad they did n't mind me."

12. Toward night, the school-master walked over to the cottage where his little friend lay sick. Knocking gently at the cottage door, it was opened without loss of time. He entered a room where a group of women were gathered about one who was wringing her hands and crying bitterly. "O dame!" said the school-master, drawing near her chair, “is it so bad as this?" Without replying, she pointed to another room, which the school-master immediately entered; and there lay his little friend, half-dressed, stretched upon a bed..

His

13. He was a very young boy; quite a little child. hair still hung in curls about his face, and his eyes were very bright; but their light was of heaven, not of earth. The school-master took a seat beside him, and stooping over the pillow, whispered his name. The boy sprung up, stroked his face with his hand, and threw his wasted arms around his neck, crying, that he was his dear, kind friend. "I hope I always was. I meant to be, God knows," said the poor school-master. "You remember my garden, Henry?" whispered the old man, anxious to rouse him, for a dullness seemed gathering upon the child, "and how pleasant it used to be in the evening-time? You must make haste to visit it again, for I think the very flowers have missed you, and are less gay than they used to be. You will come soon, very soon now, won't you?"

14. The boy smiled faintly-so very, very faintly—and put his hand upon his friend's gray head. He moved his lips too, but no voice came from them, no, not a sound. In the silence that ensued, the hum of distant voices borne upon the evening air, came floating through the open window. "What's that?" said the sick child, opening his eyes.

"The

boys at play, upon the green." He took a handkerchief from his pillow, and tried to wave it above his head. But the feeble arm dropped powerless down. "Shall I do it?" said the school-master. "Please wave it at the window," was the "Tie it to the lattice. Some of them may Perhaps they'll think of me, and look this

faint reply. see it there.

way."

15. He raised his head and glanced from the *fluttering *signal to his idle bat, that lay, with slate, and book, and other boyish property, upon the table in the room. And then he laid him softly down once more; and again clasped his little arms around the old man's neck. The two old friends and companions-for such they were, though they were man and child-held each other in a long embrace, and then the little scholar turned his face to the wall and fell asleep.

16. The poor school-master sat in the same place, holding the small, cold hand in his, and chafing it. It was but the hand of a dead child. He felt that; and yet he chafed it still, and could not lay it down.

CLV. THE WIDOW AND HER SON.

FROM EDWARDS.

1. SHE said she was alone within the world;
How could she but be sad?

She whispered something of a lad,

With eyes of blue, and light hair sweetly curled;

But the grave had the child!

And yet his voice she heard,

When at the lattice, calm and mild,

The mother in the twilight saw the vine-leaves stirred.
"Mother," it seemed to say,

"I love thee;

When thou dost by the side of thy lone pillow pray,
My spirit writes the words above thee;
Mother, I watch o'er thee; I love thee!"

2. Where was the husband of the widowed thing,
That seraph's earthly sire?

A soldier dares a soldier's fire;

The murderous ball brought death upon its wing;

Beneath a foreign sky

He fell, in sunny Spain;

The wife, in silence, saw him die,

But the fond boy's blue eyes gave drops like sunny rain. "Mother!" the poor lad cried,

"He's dying!

We are close by thee, father, at thy bleeding side;
Dost thou not hear thy Arthur crying?
Mother! his lips are closed; he's dying!"

3. It was a stormy time, where the man fell,
And the youth shrunk and pined;
+Consumption's worm his pulse tentwined;
"Prepare his shroud!" rang out the convent bell,
Yet through his pain he smiled,

To soothe a parent's grief;

Sad soul! she could not be beguiled;

She saw the bud would leave the guardian leaf!
"Mother!" he faintly said,

"Come near me;

Kiss me, and let me in my father's grave be laid;
I've prayed that I might still be near thee;
Mother! I'll come again and cheer thee."

CLVI. THE LITTLE BROOK AND THE STAR.

1. ONCE upon a time, in the leafy *covert of a wild, woody *dingle, there lived (for it was indeed a thing of life,) a certain little Brook, that might have been the happiest creature in the world, if it had but known when it was well off, and been content with the station assigned to it by an unerring Providence. But in that knowledge and that content, consists the true secret of happiness; and the silly little Brook never found out the mystery, until it was too late to profit by it.

2. I can not say, positively, from what source the little Brook came; but it appeared to well out from beneath the hollow root of an old thorn; and, collecting together its *pellucid waters, so as to form a small pool within that knotty treservoir, it swelled imperceptibly over its irregular *margin,