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had made my standing sure in at least one house, and that, I shrewdly suspected, the most influential one in the parish.

Much earlier than my town-life had accustomed me to retire, I was shown up the broad stairs to a large low chamber above. Here was another uncarpeted floor, shining with cleanliness and yellow paint, a tent bedstead, round which hung white drapery with knotted fringe, and beneath the patchwork quilt of "rising sun" pattern, a mountain of featherbed; white curtains, a little white toilet under the mirror, with its carved frame adorned with plumy asparagus and two glittering peacock's feathers; a chest of drawers reaching to the ceiling, and six painted chairs ranged formally against the wall. It was chilly, and a certain dreariness, that often presides over country "best rooms," pervaded the place. However, I would not think of it. Having read a brief chapter in my mother's Bible, which had always lain by my pillow since I went to college, I hastily undressed, and climbed up to the towering bed; made one fearful plunge, and sank to unknown depths of billowy softness.

It was long before I slept, oppressed alike by thought, and by a feeling of suffocation, as that mass of feathers closed about me. Still, I would not yield-I was determined to be brave, and I had the comfort of an approving conscience. I listened to the howling of the storm, thought of home, and of the untried future. At last, after what seemed hours of tossing wakefulness, I fell asleep.

I was aroused from the realm of dreams by the touch of a heavy hand, and the sound of a loud, but pleasant voice. I looked up. The sun shone brightly through the snowy curtains, the room looked cheerful in its quaint simplicity and cleanliness. Robert Lawrence stood by my bedside, a jovial giant of twenty, and "guessed I had overslept myself, for the chores were all done, and the breakfast was getting cold."

In five minutes I was greeting the bright morning faces round the plentifully spread breakfast-table, cheerful and elate. All my forebodings had fled before the brightness of the new day. I felt strong enough for all it held in store for me.

After breakfast I followed Robert to the spacious barns and sheds that surrounded the farm-yard. Here were evidences of thrift and care, and wealth in flocks and herds.

"The old man says, 'The merciful man is merciful to his beast,'" said Robert. "Father lodges his cattle better than his children."

I glanced at the grim, almost ruinous house, and thought he was right. "That old stern jail," continued Robert, "was built by the first Lawrence who came up the river to settle here. He was a 'Pilgrim father,' they say, but he liked this country better than Plymouth Rock, though there was nothing but woods here in them days-woods and Indians. He was the parson. His wife and the other women partly walked and partly rode the milch-cows all the way from the river. I'd like to have seen

them coming through the woods. The old house was part dwelling, part fort, where all the folks hurried together when the Indians came, first sneaking, and then whooping round. It's awful old, and father says he don't mean to live in it more'n another year. He's going to build a frame house adjoinin', next summer."

I looked with more interest at the quaint old mansion, with its yard, thick gray walls, and small windows, as this story was told me. The centuries had done their work upon it truly, and it was fast yielding to the invisible corroding fingers. It was a landmark of the ages, a relic of a wonderful past, which held in its embrace a faith, an energy, an enthusiasm, such as the world will hardly witness again.

But now my thoughts would cling to the present. My own cares claimed precedence. I questioned Robert about the district and the school, and learned that affairs were almost wholly under the direction of Deacon Lawrence. That the school was small in numbers, but contained some unruly elements-big boys who felt it beneath their dignity to obey, and girls who preferred rude fun to study, and had each her chosen champion in the school.

"I reckon you'll have a pretty hard time on't," said Robert, compassionately. "You don't look stout enough to lick some of them fellows, and if you don't lick 'em, they'll turn you out as sure's your name's Gurdon. But I'll help you all I can."

I confess I quailed a little at this information, but I answered pleasantly: "It's early days yet to talk about 'licking,' and what I'm strong enough for. Perhaps I shall not have occasion to test my strength. But are you to be one of my pupils, Robert?”

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Oh, yes; and father said, as you was college larnt, perhaps you'd teach me Latin, and some of them things, evenings. I expect to go to college myself when I'm out of my time."

I did not quite understand this, but I readily promised. As it was now time to prepare for school, I returned to the house to unpack my trunk and take from it such articles as were for use at the school-house.

"Keep a stiff upper lip with them boys, Mr. Gurdon," said the deacon, as I came down. "It don't take them long to find out what a teacher's made on. Jest let 'em know that you're master at the set-out, and I don't think you'll have any trouble. But if you do, I'll stand by you, as long as you're right."

I thanked the good man, but his words gave me food for thought. Already had I been twice warned, and twice had I received offers of assistance. Would it be needed? Did they already distrust my ability to manage this little country-school?

I was not over-confident, but I thought that I should not yield to brute force. I did not mean to punish by the rod. I felt sure that other means could be adapted to insure discipline, order, and attention. I would make

the trial, at all events, hoping to succeed. If I failed, the other alternative could be adopted as the last resort. But I did not intend to fail, and I did not intend that my hand should be instrumental in degrading a fellowcreature by corporal punishment. Such were my reflections as I walked with Robert toward the school-house.

The ground was very muddy after the late storm, and I saw groups of children of all sizes picking their way, by field and road, all in the same direction. Arrived at the old brown building, I saw a considerable crowd of children and young people of various ages gathered about the door. At our approach all dispersed, and I entered the building, amidst perfect stillness, and saw, ranged along the seats on three sides, all whom I had just before seen about the door.

I walked up to the desk, amidst the breathless silence, and glanced around. Thirty pairs of round, wide-opened eyes, expressing curiosity, were upon me. Not a lash moved, not a finger stirred. The most riotous reception would have embarrassed me less. I wished, but hardly knew how, to break this stillness. Robert came to my assistance.

"Children," said he, "this is the new schoolmaster, Mr. Gurdon. I expect you've made up your minds to 'tend to your books, and obey him; but if you don't, father told me to tell you 'he'd know the reason why,' and so shall I."

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He was silent, but looked rather significantly upon a pair of brawny arms and stout fists. As if touched by a spring, every one rose. girls courtesied, the boys bowed awkwardly, and then, as simultaneously as they had risen, they all sat down again. Another silence ensued. I laid aside my overcoat, and deposited books and writing materials upon the unpainted desk. Then I said, addressing the school:

"We have come together, children, I to teach, you to learn. In order that we both perform these duties well, there are others which must also be attended to. I shall feel an interest in your welfare and improvement, and devote my time and thoughts to you, earnestly and fully, seeking the best ways of improving you. In order that I may succeed, I shall expect you to be quiet, orderly, and studious, always endeavoring to profit, both by what you learn from your books, and by my instruction. I shall expect you to assemble regularly, to obey every signal made by me, and to be courteous to each other and to your teacher. I will commence now with the eldest, and each may bring his books to the desk, and give me an account of his present scholarship, and what his expectations are for the winter."

As I concluded, the thirty pairs of eyes intermitted their steady stare. Glances were exchanged, a titter ran round the benches, and a loutish fellow, considerably larger than myself, came forward with two or three tattered books in his hand. As I sat in my chair beside the desk, he stood gazing down upon me with half-savage insolence.

The name of this young giant was James Lord. His books were a worn English Reader, a spelling-book with one cover gone, and a Daboll's Arithmetic in nearly the same condition. "He was eighteen years old," he said, "worked on farms, where he was hired, in the summer, and sometimes went to school in the winter. Calculated to read and spell, and mebby write some, and s'posed he'd orter larn how to add and multiply, 'cause he got cheated in his wages last summer."

There were two or three other "big boys," with the same aspirations. The younger boys had spelling-books and "Easy Lessons" for reading.. Robert Lawrence had grammar and algebra in addition to his arithmetic, and there were a few simple text-books on geography on the boys' side of the house.

The girls' ideas of tuition were not much more exalted. Some brought the New Testament to read from, but the English Reader and Easy Lessons were the standard reading-books. Almost every girl, advanced beyond simplest reading, had "Peter Parley." There was not a map, chart, or blackboard upon the wall, nor an article of apparatus belonging to the building, if we except a huge ruler of walnut, which, to my eye, seemed better adapted for use as a bludgeon.

With the aid of these unpromising appliances I was expected to continue, in Greenvale, the process of educating its unsophisticated youth. Every face bore a complaisant and satisfied expression, as the books were exhibited. In this case "ignorance was bliss," undoubtedly, and they reveled in it.

I soon saw what the day's exercises must be a reading class of big boys and girls, in the English Reader; another of smaller boys and girls, in Easy Lessons. I did not approve of the Scriptures for this purpose, but meant to read them statedly and reverently myself to the assembled school.

Then there were two or three classes in spelling, and some little children stumbling through the alphabet and words in one or two syllables; and a few in grammar, geography, and arithmetic. These I found it difficult to class, for scarcely two were of the same advancement, and all insisted on proceeding independently from his or her own last lesson at the school of my predecessor. I trusted, however, to another day to bring order out of this chaos, hoping to introduce new text-books and organize new classes.

MEERSCHAUM is made on a large scale by saturating carbonate of magnesia in silicate of soda or soluble glass-care in selecting a good quality of magnesia and silicate being the only requisite for success. The profits are immense. A pipe made of the "foam of the sea," as smokers verily believe, costs for material about five cents, leaving the balance for labor.

IN

FRANCIS WAYLAND, D. D., LL. D.

N the death of this eminent scholar, the cause of education has suffered almost irreparable loss. For thirty years at the head of one of our oldest universities, he exerted, perhaps, as powerful an influence in molding the character of the young and in promoting the interests of education throughout the country, as any man in the United States.

FRANCIS WAYLAND was born in the city of New York, March 11, 1796, of English parents. His father, a Baptist clergyman of considerable ability, was settled as a pastor, first in New York city, afterwards at Poughkeepsie and Saratoga Springs. The family removed to Poughkeepsie, where Francis was placed at the academy, and pursued his classical studies under the late Daniel H. Barnes. In 1813, when only seventeen years old, he graduated with honor at Union College, and showed, even at that early age, a marked predilection for metaphysical and economic studies. Immediately after graduating, he entered the office of Dr. Eli Burritt, of Troy; and, after three years of medical study, was licensed to practice his profession. During his medical course, however, he felt called upon to consecrate his life to the Christian ministry. He spent a year in the seminary at Andover, and in 1817 was induced to accept a tutorship in Union College. He continued his theological studies, and mingled with them the study of several branches of literature and science. He remained here four years, taught in nearly every department of college instruction, and began that diversified culture which distinguished him in after-life.

In August, 1821, he was ordained, and settled as the pastor of the First Baptist Church in Boston, and resigned his position in 1826, to accept the professorship of mathematics and natural philosophy in Union College.

Soon after he had entered upon his duties here, he was elected president of Brown University, and was inaugurated February, 1827. The circumstances in which he found the college were by no means favorable. It was scantily endowed, had little apparatus, and a small library. The want of discipline was so great, that the last two or three years of his predecessor's term of service were rendered memorable by the idleness, dissipation, and recklessness of many of the students. Till near the close of his administration, there was but one college edifice, which contained the chapel, recitation rooms, and dormitories; and the number of students being large, many of them boarded in the city, and only came to the college to recite, and were, therefore, not under the control of the college officers.

Such were some of the circumstances under which President Wayland commenced his official duties at Brown University. He soon reduced the affairs to order; and Brown University became remarkable for the exemplary behavior of its students and its high standard of instruction. "Its departments of instruction," it is said, "were but imperfectly organized;

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