Never was there a situation more delightful than Sidney Place. A large and spacious house was situated in the midst of shady trees, and the extensive grounds were left open and free to the most exuberant spirits of boyhood. We could run in a straight direction for a quarter of a mile, without passing our own territory. A small enclosure from many acres was set off for a garden, and all the rest was one closely-fed green-sward, with here and there clumps of trees. A brook gurgled through the centre of the grounds, which we could dam up at pleasure into ponds for naval fights, for bathing, and in winter, for skating. Every tree had a name, and every shrub a story.

A long avenue of poplars led to our school-house. A little hillock, sacred to the memory of many a kitten, and pet robin, or favorite dog, rose near the entrance. It was the starting place for our sleds in winter- the council seat in summer- -the idler's loungethe judges' throne, in set fights. We had here all kinds of sports, from foot-ball to trap-ball; taming mice, rearing chickens, cock-fighting, dog-carts, hoops, balls, kites, and even down to playing pin, formed our out-of-door amusements. Who has looked at the sports of children, and not been astonished at the wonderful fertility of their minds, in the invention of expedients for killing time, under any circumstances?

No school could have been better for physical education. The rule was, to be in school eight hours a day; but we rarely exceeded six, and long intermissions swallowed up a good deal of this. We had set lessons: if we knew them very well; if not, a whipping followed. Boys were classed, as much as possible, without regard to age, aptness for study, or acquirements. The object was, to hurry us through books, that we might be able to say, we are so far,' when questioned by visitors, or our parents. Nothing was explained. We rarely parsed a word of Latin; our sports did not illustrate any thing; our business was play- to cheat ourselves of school-time as agreeably as possible to frame excuses and plans for avoiding our lessons, which no pains were taken to make interesting to us. We were taught words. We purchased translations, and hired boys to get our lessons, and read them to us. There was no ambition for scholarship, for one boy fared as well as another, in all respects, except the floggings; though the sons of very rich men who sent two or three boys, got rather the lightest blows, and the most smiles.

We had an examination once a year, and for this event we were all prepared. We knew the questions coming to us-the passage we were to translate—even the words we were to spell. Months were employed in getting up this pageant, for the reputation of the school depended upon it.

In the evening, we had an exhibition. There we shone in gilded armor, and wore dirks, and played kings, and great men. The house was crowded with the ladies and gentlemen whom we were accustomed to meet at our fathers' tables. We already tasted the praise, in anticipation, that would follow our performance. How conspicuous each one felt! How we foamed with delight! And our parents, how delighted they were! How heartily were we kissed, behind the scenes, by our dear mothers! They could not wait, but stole out to help us dress, and see that every thing was nice. Dear, dear mo

thers! What blessed creatures you are, and how beautiful, even in your weaknesses! What a school! The papers rang with its praises. Fathers were mad to place their children under such a paragon of skill. But, alas! what were we? Poor fools! We had no training-no discipline. Our minds were filled with false and alluring passions - the passion for praise and the passion for sport

CHAPTER III.

How I got admitted to college, I cannot say. I was very imperfectly prepared; but my books were interlined, and chance placed a great raw youth from the country, who had fitted himself by dint of hard study, by my side. He took compassion, I suppose, upon my trembling ignorance, and gave me a word or two in a whisper. As good luck would have it, when we went to be examined in Greek, the professor dropped his book from the desk: I rushed forward and gave it to him, with my best bow. I thought he would show me some favor, and that gave me confidence. I scraped in, and my father already saw me half way up to the temple of fame.

I now put on a watch, a long-tailed coat, walked in the streets with my father, and felt that I was a man. He seemed to wish to hasten my years, and to give me, ere my childhood was closed, the habits of a young man. I was supplied liberally with money; drove his horses, and did very much as I pleased. This was during the vacation, before I took rooms at college. I was to all intents and purposes his eldest son. Deprived of the advantages of education, except that better kind which he got in the world by pushing his own way, my father was misled by his hopes, for he thought he had nothing else to do than to place me in the way of learning. He judged me by himself; he felt the highest regard for that of which he himself was destitute, and could not imagine how any one could feel differently.

Proud and happy father!-how have your hopes been blasted! Would that I could recall you from the grave, to weep at your feet those tears of deep contrition and sorrow which now fall in rivers to the ground for my unworthiness, and for the bitter disappointment which hurried you beyond the knowledge of all my transgressions! But must I bear all the blame? I acted in accordance with the feeble power within me. Shall I blame my parent? He had done all he thought a father could do for a child. "Why not rather blame that system of education which stifles the germ of mind in thousands of my countrymen, by placing them in the midst of luxury in infancy; displaying to them in boyhood only a gilded world; surrounding them with false appearances; nurturing them in the uncertain atmosphere of wealth; with no idea of labor - no thought but pleasure no hope but praise. Where is such a mind, when adversity frowns upon a family? Deprived of its station, it sinks into an inferiority as hopeless as it is unexpected. The elasticity of youth may rise above it, by some fortuitous assistance; but, oh! the struggle of mastering false pride-of being willing to seem what

we are - and of beginning our education in manhood! It may be done; but bitter is the cup, and slow and toilsome is the progress.

Previous to my entering college, my mother had died. My father still kept house, managed by servants. I escaped all the evil of such discipline, by being at school; though it would be hard to decide which of the two is the greater evil, the influence of servants over children, or a showy school.

I felt severely the loss of my mother, or rather I have felt it severely, since the actual event. I do not mean that I had not every personal comfort which she could have bestowed upon me, but I felt the loss of her affection of the inducements to exertion which the love, the tender love, we bear our mothers, furnishes.

Why descant here upon a mother's love? All the world knows it to be the only pure and hallowed affection this state of existence allows. Deprive a child of its mother, and you take from it its strongest stay against temptation and the allurements of the world. She is the rudder of his heart, and through its tenderness can mould and direct as she pleases. What son can resist her tears? See! she weeps she implores she throws her neck — she arms about your covers your face with kisses she is overcome with the depth of her anxiety. Can you disregard her? She is the mother who bore you, the nurse who dandled you, and hushed your infant cries. She looked upon you when but a mere mass of flesh, hardly possessed of life, with unutterable affection. Alas! if we do not love our mothers, it must be because we do not think.

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My mother's death pained me, but I soon forgot my sorrows in the amusements of the school. I have felt it since; and regret for her loss will ever remain the strongest feeling of my life. To the loss of her, I attribute all my subsequent errors. With a disposition easily yielding to affection, I possessed an unconquerable aversion to force; and where fear was intended to influence me, I only became stubbornly set in opposition.

When she died, I was away from home. I was immediately sent for. Upon my arrival, I found the house turned up side down, as if preparing for a great party. Beds were taken away, and the rooms furnished with seats to accommodate a great multitude. I was shocked to see all the family so busy, and so much engaged in the labor of preparation. It seemed to me to be disrespect to my mother. My father was about giving orders, with his usual energy. At table, my old grandmother from the country presided, in the place of my mother, and she ate like a cormorant, and praised the dishes.

I had never been in the house of death before, and thought we ought all of us to have been silent and sorrowful. I found out then and since, that when in the very midst of death and disease, the mind accommodates itself to the case, and we look upon the event in a more reasonable light, being compelled to act and behave collectedly by necessity. Imagination in this, as in every thing else, exceeds reality; and the death of an absent friend affects us more severely than the actual seeing of his departure.

My brother and myself occupied a chamber together, when we were at home, nearly over my mother's bed-room. We were obliged

to pass her door in getting to our own room. We retired together, both of us timid at the thought of death so near to us.

After we got into bed, and he had fallen asleep, a sudden courage possessed me. I lay and reasoned with myself for a few momentsthen took the light and went down to my mother's room-turned the sheet from her face, and gazed upon her in the silence and solitude of death. I kissed her pale, cold lips again and again. It seemed to me that she knew I was parting with her for the last time. I retired to my chamber with no sentiment of fear in my heart. I felt lifted above fear. From that time I have never feared death. A full knowledge of what death is, was suddenly revealed to me with that

act.

The memory of the dignified feeling of that hour can never depart. All childish delusions were dispelled by the excess of my affection for her. That affection is as indelible as her memory.

I returned to school, and, as I have said, soon forgot my sorrows; though, when I was sick or low spirited, my mother's image would occur to me, as she used to appear when she soothed my pains, and pacified my childish complaints. The lamp which had guided my feet below, still often shone upon me like a star from above. When, too, the mothers of the other boys came out to see them, and I saw how happy they were, I then wished I had a mother too.

I should have mentioned, before this, that my mother was a piouslydisposed woman. She had been educated as who in New England is not? — in respect for the Sabbath. No noise was allowed in the house on Sunday. We were made to sit still, and read the Bible on that day—even the abstruse writings of St. Paul. We understood nothing, except that it was a good act to do so, and pleased God; how, we did not know, nor did we think to inquire for the impression was an early one, and was received as a matter of course.

Our very early impressions in morals and conduct are like the laws of nature, which are operating so constantly and invariably around us, that they seem matters of course. The theory of gravitation was not inquired into, until lately, though the world had lived in the observance of this law for centuries. What child, born of religious parents, cannot recollect his horror and self-accusation, after committing a sin for the first time, and the gradual wearing away of his scruples? And now, if he is a man, he will find himself doing, daily and hourly, things which once he would have shuddered to commit.

But in our religious reading, we felt that we were doing right, and that was pleasant. At night, after we were snugly in bed, our mother would come and seat herself upon the bedside, and one by one we said our little prayers. She would then kiss us and depart. I received impressions at this season which have never been obliterated. Strange and beautiful thoughts of God, and Heaven, and my mother, come up to me now— they have often in my weary life— with a spirit of devotion I cannot account for: for I have always tried hard to be skeptical. Philosophers may account for it, if they can; but for myself I believe, truly, that it is the seeds of goodness those infant prayers and bed-side instructions planted, and over which the dross of the world has been heaped up, struggling to come to light, and bear the fruit of true religion.

What a calm such hours have! How placid! - how grateful to an aching heart! I feel like a child again, at my mother's side; I see her mild angelic face I hear her sweet voice, and respond her warm kiss. I lay my head upon her bosom-the bosom that nourished me and weep tears of joy. Call this foolish, unmanly, weak, if you will-but give me many such hours! They are the bright spots in my life. They are all that have kept me puremorally pure when, to the world, I seemed like a blasted tree, without greenness or branches.