shall demean themselves, provided that nothing unreasonable is demanded. (27 Maine, 281.) A requirement by the teacher of a district school that the scholars in English grammar shall write compositions, is a reasonable one, and refusal to comply therewith will justify the expulsion of the scholar from the school. (32 Vermont R., 224.) A rule requiring every scholar to read from the Protestant version of the Bible, may be enforced by the trustees, or by the teacher, in accordance with the known wishes of the trustees, and the scholar refusing to comply with such rule may be expelled from the school. (38 Maine, 376.) A scholar may be expelled for truancy, or for misconduct in school, or for disobedience to its reasonable regulations. (8 Cush. R., 164.) Children unvaccinated may be excluded from school. (N. Y. Session Laws, 1860, 761, ch. 438.)

cases.

7. Character on trial.-When a teacher is put on trial for assault and battery, he should not omit to prove his good character. Every man who lives long enough to acquire a good character is entitled to the benefit of it, when in peril. It has been usual to treat the good character of the party accused as evidence to be taken into consideration only in doubtful Juries have generally been told that, where the facts proved are such as to satisfy their minds of the guilt of the party, character, however excellent, is no subject for their consideration; but that, when they entertain any doubt as to the guilt of the party, they may properly turn their attention to the good character which he has received. (Bennet v. State, Humph., 118.) It is, however, submitted with deference, that the good character of the party accused, satisfactorily established by competent witnesses, is an ingredient which ought always to be submitted to the consideration of the jury, together with the other facts and circumstances of the case. The nature of the charge, and the evidence by which it is supported, will often render such ingredients of little or no avail; but the more correct course seems to be, not in any case to withdraw it from consideration, but to leave the jury to form their conclusion upon the whole of the evidence, whether an individual, whose character was previously unblemished, has or has not committed the particular crime for which he is called upon to answer. (2 Rus. on Cr., 8th Am. ed., 785; Rex v. Stannard, 7 C. & P., 673; 32 Eng. Com. Law R., 681; see, also, 1 Cox R., 424; 2 Mass. R., 317; 9 Barb., 609; 14 Missouri, 502; 10 B. Monroe's R., 225; 8 Smedes & Mars. R., 401; 3 Strobh. R., 517; 1 Wheeler's Cr. Ca., 64; 1 City Hall Rec., 11, 82; Rosco's Cr. Ev., 97; 1 Taylor on Ev., 258; 5 Cush., 295; Archbold's Cr. P. & P., 400; 2 Stark Ev., 365; 2 Halsted's Law of Ev., 150; and 1 Greenlf. Ev., 54, 55.)

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THE library of the Hon. Peter Force, of Washington, the most valuable collection of antiquarian literature in the United States, was recently purchased by the New York Historical Society at a trifle under $50,000

THE SCHOOL-MAN'S FIRST VOYAGE.

Some of life's sorest trials

THEORY and practice are always at war. arise from this conflict. Theory provides a channel with long tangents and gentle curves, but the raging torrent of experience now overflows, now abrades this side and now that, and not seldom cuts new and yawning tracks as it rushes on. So it turned out with the schoolmaster who went to Aspinwall, on his way to California. None knew better than he the nature and power of steam, the science of the winds, or the mechanism of the steamboat. Had he not lectured on all these things to his astonished pupils a hundred times? Nay, he was even as familiar with Bowditch's Navigator as with Morse's Geography. Well then, might he, forearmed and forewarned, know how and when to brave the dangers of the ocean. Thus the professor, now seeing his way to California all clear, resolved on a "first-class passage," knowing that such a "passage" implied always a state-room and first table. So he rests quietly until the last week, and then walks up for his "first-class ticket," with all its privileges and immunities, when, behold! his state-room was No.

second cabin.

"What does this mean?"

and his berth 58,

"Why, that all the state-rooms are engaged; you came too late." With admirable composure he bears this his first disappointment, reflecting that at least a berth is secure.

Then comes the embarkation. Oh! the partings and the adieus! But such things are commonplace, and must not detain us.

At length his feet are planted on the hurricane-deck, whence he calmly surveys the surging throng. The gong sounds, "All landsmen ashore!" Well, I am no longer a landsman, thought the professor, and he sadly gazed at the retiring crowd; sadly, for he knew that his own dear ones— wife, children, and friends-were there. They were to see him on board, and there to say the parting words, and give and take the parting embraces. The rushing multitudes had separated them, and defeated this intent of affection; but as he next stood at the anchor he caught sight once more of all he held dear on earth. Shouts were not only in vain, but undignified. Yet he did shout, and waved and tossed his hat, regardless of the remarks which such conduct might occasion. Eyes at length met eyes--but affection is mute. The bridge is drawn, the cables are loosed, the great beam now begins to move, and the great wheels are making the first of their one hundred and twenty thousand revolutions. The last adieus-but let the rest be imagined.

The Narrows are passed, and the landsman is now fairly at sea. Those splendid state-rooms are not for him. After much research, he worms his way down to the second cabin to look for "berth 58," which in due time

is found. Suppressing a sigh of disappointment that his lodgings are not more commodious, he concludes to make a virtue of necessity, and throws his valise upon his own appropriate bunk.

"Not so fast, please. Excuse me, sir, that is my bunk," exclaims a gentlemanly son of Abraham.

The professor produces his ticket, and so does the Jew. No mistake; 58 is plainly figured on both. He now subsides into a fit of reflection, in which the idea of a first-class passage in the steerage is prominent, and how it may be secured. Forthwith, the purser is consulted; and he, the kind-hearted, who is of course "every body's friend," regretting his want of time, said or sighed at length, "I don't know what I can do for you." Thus repulsed and moved with sympathy, the school-man resolved that, come what would, he would not add a feather's weight to the burdens of that officer, but would catch his berth on plank, cushion, or sofa, as Providence should provide.

Settled in mind as to personal matters, he turns his thoughts and eyes to the wonders of the deep. He congratulates himself on the auspicious skies, the halcyon days on which his voyage is projected. "Delightful October, the calmest of the months, when the stormy equinox has blown over, and the mild Northwestern has regained his peaceful rule." Alas for this fine theory, so soon to be shamefully falsified! Night settles upon the deep with a black veil of clouds. A damp northeaster springs up, gradually strengthening until midnight and morning, when it had become a "heavy blow," in nautical phrase, but to the school-man a fearful gale. How it howls and shrieks in the rigging! How the steamer rolls and plunges ! And when at last the morning came, and he forsakes his sleepless cushion, he sees the billows rolling and the foam and spray flying exactly as the poets describe it, but to him it was then all earnest prose. Alas for the halcyon days of October! Hope almost expires; he begins to anticipate an early termination of his voyage as he thinks of Hatteras. 'Stormy Hatteras! If the wind now blows a gale, it will blow a hurricane to-night when we are off that savage cape. Geography can not lie." But theory is again falsified, happily for once. The wind lulled off Hatteras, and the night is passed with tolerable composure by all on board, save the three hundred sick.

The third day dawns. The sun springs sudden and burning hot from the waters. The sailors spread the awning over the promenade-deck; and the professor, pacing up and down, in lively conversation with his friends, prophesies a warm sultry day in the clear southern skies, with reasons found in Dove and Redfield. But all at once the sailors are at the awning again, furling it. Some are up the main-mast, tying closer the sails, others remove all encumbrances from the upper deck. Why? Does the captain envy us this grateful shade? Nay, but he has consulted his barometer. Not long after, the sun is veiled in clouds. Dark showers gather

in the west. A water-spout, like a huge white cable, descends from the cloud to the whirling sea, regaling the beholder with the original of many a picture. It dissolves, and in half an hour two others at once are visible. These also pass, and then a fourth, "grand, gloomy, and peculiar," white, with a background of black, entire from sea to sky, not erect, but doubly curved, with an immense horizontal reach in its midst. These were ominous. The dark rain-clouds soon break up and fly over. The wind strikes us in fitful gusts from the southwest, or quartering, as the seamen term it. The sea arose into chopped waves at once, and again the boat began to roll and pitch. Before midnight, a tempest lay around. The motions of the steamer meeting and buffeting this quartering gale were most outrageous. No language can describe it, no landsman could endure it. The shrieking winds, the roaring, dashing waves, the creaking and crashing in midship, as well as its wild tumbling, drives sleep from other eyes than his, and inspired the poor schoolmaster first with terror, then with nausea, and finally with indifference and disgust! Here was another and a final triumph of practice over theory. Reason and self-conceit must henceforth take a lower place. Theory is well as a guide in the search after truth, but experience alone is worthy of our trust.

The fourth morning dawns, and the fair sun ushers in a glorious day— an era of peace in the skies, peace on the sea, and peace in the soul of the humbled school-man. He and his fellow-voyagers pass the magnificent ranges of Cuba and St. Domingo. They enter the great Caribbean Sea; and at the end of the seventh night behold the Isthmus with its majestic hills, its luxuriant forests of cocoa, bananas, caues, and palms.

BACKWOODS' GEOGRAPHY.

A FEW winters ago I taught the primary school in a small town. Our

room had formerly been a drygoods store; the counter and shelves were removed, and crazy benches were arranged for the children. All the light came in at the western end, which was shaded by a porch. At the eastern end was what our superintendent called a white blackboard,” and in a dark corner was a coal-stove. I had eighty scholars; and the branches of which I was professor were, reading, writing, spelling, and mental arithmetic. Nearly half my charge had not graduated from the alphabet. During my reign, while we were drawing and learning to "cipher," a man came along peddling school apparatus. The directors bought a globe and set of maps for the high-school. As there were two maps of the hemispheres, I begged one, and suspended it in a conspicuous place in the school-room,

The children crowded around, whispering to one another, "What is

that funny picter ?"

"A map," answered some of the larger ones.

"What is it for?"

"To study geography with. Brother Jim's got a book full o' sich picters." Here the bell called school.

"Study and recite well, children," I said, "and if we can find ten minutes before recess, we will have a talk about the map." When the time arrived, I pointed to the map, asking, "What is this?"

Some said, a picture; others, a map.

"You are both right; a map is a picture of what ?" "The world," said a few.

"What shape has the world?"

A boy rose with importance, and answered, "A pair of specs," and the rest laughed; while a large girl said, "It is round, like a ball." The boy was puzzled; for the two hemispheres, side by side, seemed as nearly shaped like spectacles as any thing else. I sent to the upper room to borrow the globe. "Here, children," said I, "the world is like this. Can you see all parts of the globe at once?"

"No; only half."

"Half a globe is called a hemisphere. How many halves to the globe?" "Two," cried the children. "The map is a picture of both halves." "Can any of you point on the map to where we live ?”

Several aimed, but did not hit the mark.

"Do you see that black line? That represents the Mississippi River. Perhaps you never saw it."

"Yes," some said, "we skate there," though this seemed news to others.

"Show me the same line on the globe." This was done. "Right: that is America, our country, and around flows the deep blue sea. This half, on which lies the land we live on, is called the western hemisphere, and the other half is the eastern hemisphere. Let us see if it is the same on the globe as on the map ;" and as I turned the globe over, eager eyes glanced from map to globe.

"Oh yes; they're the same."

Here a boy raised his hand to inquire what the earth stood on. So I gave them the old mythology; adding, that though ships had sailed around the earth, they never found any thing to hold it up. "It flies along like a ball in the air, and to-morrow I will show you how it is done."

"But the folks would tumble off," objected one.

Why doesn't this dust fall from the globe?"

"I guess it's too little."

'Well, people are not as large compared with the earth as the dust is to this globe. Then, there is a power in the earth that holds things to it like