and I'll be there too, and then the master must look out."

Harry had remarked Julien Seaver at church, and inquired his name. He was first attracted by his sweet alto voice, and then interested by the deep melancholy, almost despair, in his beautiful features,-and then astonished, that so sombre a veil should be spread over so fine a face. He was glad to see the boy at school, and, as soon as the reading was over, he went directly to his desk, which was next to Joe Downer's, the latter having secured it for him the day before, in order to protect him from insult.

"Good morning, Julien," said he, kindly; "I am glad you are coming to my school. I heard your voice in church. You have a very fine alto, and we are going to have singing in the school,-not only sacred music, but songs and glees. I shall depend on you for the alto."

Julien's dark face brightened with pleasure, and the tears started into Joe Downer's eyes. He hastily brushed them off, and began to study very hard, as Harry continued,

"But we must not neglect the more important matters. Will you let me see your books?"

Julien was proud to show them. They were quite clean, and his progress was not exceeded by that of any one of his age, in school.

Harry left him, with a few kind and encouraging words; and, as he departed, Julien turned, with a look of delight, to Joe; but Joe was using his handkerchief, and his face was not visible.

“Tim, mind you,” cried one of the small, bad boys, "the master leaves his big ferule at home, and he don't dare to whip anybody. Let us cut a few shines, now."

"So we will," said Tim. "Let's rub his desk over with charcoal!"

"And I'll pin a newspaper on to his coat-tail!” cried Jerry.

"And I'll make faces at him!" said Bill.

46

Hallo, you young rascals," cried Joe Downer, "look at me! I rather guess I'm pretty big and strong. If I am not, I rather s'pose I could get some help." (Looking round.)

"I rather guess you could," said Will Barry. "Shouldn't wonder," said Clare Maris. "Well," continued Joe, doubling his fist, and shaking it in the faces of the astonished rebels, "I tell you this,-one and all of you. The first one that begins to cut up a shine, or to insult the master, in any way-mind, in any way,-shall be knocked off this coasting ground, and specially flogged by me, every day, for one week or more."

The rebellious party shrank away in terror, and the subject of shines was never again alluded to.

"Mr. Downer," said Harry, as they came out of school that night, "have you time to walk a little way with me?"

"The Sandwich Islands, or one of them. His mother was a native, and she married an officer of a French ship, which was stopping there. She was related to the royal family. Her husband called himself Julian Seaver, or, Julien Sivre, as my uncle says it should be. He went away with the ship, promising to return within a year; but he never came. When Julien was old enough to walk alone, he used to go to all the vessels that came in, to inquire for his father, but he never could hear of him.

"When he was ten years old his mother died, and as he could not persuade any one to take him on board a vessel, he managed to get into my uncle's vessel, just as she was about sailing, and conceal himself for several days, till they were far from land, when he came out, almost starved.

My uncle heard his story, and pitied him very

much.

"He brought him home to be educated, and he says he shall be treated like a prince, and a gentleman, as he is—at least he should not be shunned on account of his colour. But you cannot force people. They say he is a negro, and he is the only one in town. He is never invited anywhere with the other boys. Uncle did get him into the singing-school.

"He reads music as he would a story, but he won't sit in the singing seats, because he says everybody stares at him."

"Who is your uncle, Mr. Downer?"

It was a mild, January morning. After the children were all assembled in school, it began to rain heavily, and continued pouring. The recess was unavailable. Nobody went out farther than the hall. Harry heard an extensive rustling, and looked up from a sum he was correcting. The small children were thrusting themselves into all imaginable attitudes, in order to obtain relief from the pain produced by continuing too long in one posture.

They looked miserable, and ill-natured, as though any change, a fight, or a whipping, would be preferable to the cramped and wearisome situation in which they were held.

tired of sitting, Tommy?"

"I want to ask you about the boy who came with you to-day. He is not a negro?"

"Oh no, sir. Though the people here call him

"Is, sir," said the little child, just beginning to cry.

"Well, stand up, all of you; walk across to the door; now come back; go again once more; come back; clap your hands; laugh as loud as you can."

This they did, all the school bearing them company.

There, now, do you feel better?"

Is, sir," said Tommy. "Is, sir," said they all. "It seems to me you all look tired, and this is really a very tedious morning. We have such a large room, we might as well have a little exercise in-doors, seeing it is too damp to play out. You may all of you—that is, all who wish to come down into the floor, and march a little. I have my flute in my pocket, and all the boys who can, may whistle. Please range yourselves two by two; first the boys, then the girls. We'll march just five minutes, and then we shall be able to study much better. Begin with the left foot. Now!" and away they went, to the tune of "Jefferson and Liberty," which Harry played, the boys whistled, and the girls hummed.

"Stop! turn right about all! There now; march the other way." All the school joined in this, except John Beal, the young man, who sat entirely engrossed by his arithmetic.

"Now you may take your seats quietly, and study as fast as possible."

All cheerfully obeyed, and a dead silence succeeded, which was interrupted by an angry knock at the door. One of the boys opened it. It was Mr. Maris, who was prowling about in the hope of being able to make himself useful.

He sternly observed, "I thought you seemed to have a riot here, and did not know but you might want some assistance."

"Oh, dear, no, sir," cried Harry, laughing. "You see, sir, it is such a wet day that the scholars cannot go out to play; and they cannot study without some exercise. So I let them march for five minutes; and you see how nicely they are making up the time. I am sorry you did not come in a little sooner to see them."

"I don't know," said Mr. Maris, shaking his head; "I think it is rather an innovation."

"An improvement, sir? Yes, sir, you are right. It is a great improvement on the dark days when poor children were whipped because they could not possibly sit still any longer. This improvement, with many others, was introduced into the common schools by a most successful teacher, Thomas A. Bolder, Esq., from the city."

"I don't know," said Mr. Maris, doubtfully shaking his head. "Well, you haven't sent for me yet?"

"No, sir, thank you; we have had no occasion. Won't you step in and hear us read?"

"Well, I don't care if I do. I may find some opportunity of being useful."

As the boys took their places on the floor, there was a slight disturbance, and Mr. Maris exclaimed, "There are two boys crowding and whispering."

Harry hastened to them, and said, in a low, kind voice, "What is the matter, my boys?" They hesitated a moment, and the one who stood lowest replied, "Enoch missed a word yesterday, and I spelled it, and went above him; but I don't think it was quite fair that I should have taken his place, because he misunderstood the word. I had rather he should keep his place." "Well, Enoch?" said Harry, turning to the other.

"I was very sorry to lose my place; but I was inattentive, and I think I ought to go below James."

"I had rather he should keep his place," said James.

"You are both of you very honourable and generous, and I am exceedingly pleased with your conduct; but I can't decide between you. Where there are plenty of witnesses, it is some times well to decide the case by vote of the class; but as this seems to be an affair between two, we must settle it by lot. Clare, will you find two sticks of unequal length, and let them draw?”

This was soon done. Enoch drew the longest stick, and so retained his place. "Perhaps," hinted Mr. Maris, "my boy bas cheated: Enoch and he are great friends.”

Instantly the blood rushed to Harry's face, and the lightning flashed from his eyes. He stood up, indignantly confronting Mr. Maris, and look. ing, to his amazed pupils, as tall as Goliath. With an evident struggle to master his anger, and speak respectfully to Mr. Maris:

"No, sir! you are mistaken. Your son does not cheat, or lie. I do not believe I have one scholar here who would cheat. They all study well, and treat me well; and I would rather any one should speak against me, than against them.”

There was a momentary silence, and then John Beal (who usually sat motionless, and inattentive as a stone post to everything excepting his arithmetic) hastily rose, and requested permission to speak, which was readily granted.

"I have attended this school," said he, with some agitation, "these eighteen years. I was feruled every summer by the mistress, and flogged every winter by the master, until I was strong enough to defend myself. Until this winter, no one has ever tried to make me understand my studies; otherwise, I should not have been here now, when I am almost twenty-one years old. I never saw a master try to make his scholars happy before. I never before saw a master stand up for his scholars to save them from blame and punishment. I think we ought all to do the very best we can to make his task light and pleasant. I should like to know how many there are in the school who intend to behave well and help the master."

Harry stood up, with a bright smile, and said, 'Every one who means to do his duty hold up his right hand. Here is mine."

Every one immediately elevated a hand. Some of the girls by mistake held up the left one, and the children held up both, in their zeal to do something popular.

Then Joe Downer, who could no longer restrain his enthusiasm, proposed "Three cheers for Master Somers!" and, in the deafening hurrahs which followed, Mr. Maris effected his escape, somewhat ashamed of himself, and exceedingly puzzled with this new state of things.

There was one boy whose enthusiastic attempt at a most signal and surpassing hurrah failed entirely, and was choked into a sob, which was fortunately, unheard in the uproar. This was Clare Maris. It was the first time anybody ever stood up for him, defended his honour, and stood pledged for his truthfulness. "I am not the good boy he thinks me," said he to himself; "bot henceforth, I will be. He shall not trust me for nothing."

From that time, his whole conduct and deportment were so changed for the better, that his father, to his great surprise, never again found

an opportunity to chastise him. Indeed, such was the master's influence on his brothers, that the rod soon fell into disuse in that family.

Harry Soiners, finding on inquiry that Saturday, though not holy time, was the unoccupied evening of the week, informed his school that he "would always be at home at that time, and would be happy to see any of them at his room. It was rather small—would not comfortably seat more than fifteen; but any number not exceeding that would be very welcome. He would be glad of the opportunity to talk with them about any thing which interested them, excepting their studies, which had better be laid aside from Saturday noon till Monday morning, as the mind requires rest. But they could sing, or tell stories, or whatever they pleased."

This invitation, kindly and simply given, was accepted with much pleasure, and the Saturday evenings thus distinguished, were so ardently anticipated, and heartily enjoyed, that they were obliged to "take turns," so as not to exceed the specified number. Julien Sivre was with them, no longer despised and neglected, but joyous and hopeful as any.

As the school-girls, and the small boys could not participate in this enjoyment, Harry obtained for the school, by the influence of the Committee, the liberty of Wednesday afternoon, which was thenceforth devoted to the singing of songs and glees, ending in a contra dance, so all were delighted, and nobody found time to quarrel with the teacher or any one else.

the scholars of the Red Oaks Village made greater progress in their studies than ever before during many years. Besides this, the influence of Harry's kind and gentlemanly manner had entirely changed the rough habits, and coarse feelings, of the young people under his charge. Profanity and evil speaking were banished, and contentions were hardly known among them.

So thoroughly convinced were the parents of this result, that they yielded to the earnest solici tations of their children, and, at the close of the term, engaged Harry to teach them again, the next winter; and because he seemed to hesitate a little, before replying to their proposal, they offered him a larger salary than they ever before | had given.

So they gave him a hearty, affectionate farewell, which some of them could not utter, lest the voice should break into sobs, and others could not look, because the eyes were blinded by tears.

But he came back to them the second winter, and the third, and each term was as happy and useful as the first. Now he can teach them no more, as he is studying a profession, and after a while we are going to have a grand wedding,-two weddings in one. Hetty and Jenny Bolder will be the bridesmaids, and King George and Julien Sivre the groomsmen.

The latter is now receiving a thorough musical education, with a distinguished German teacher, through the munificence of his old friend, Captain Downer. When he returns to his island home, it will be as a gentleman, and a professor of music, with letters of introduction, with a spotless cha

The fadeless laurels that entwine thy fame; And still, till Time his latest round has run, Shall unborn ages venerate thy name.

And did a Pagan Emperor thus lament

The day that saw no good received or done? Oh, Christian, are thy days all wisely spent? Canst thou, unshrinking, view each setting sun? Scorn not a lesson from this Roman sage; For others' good thy active powers engage, Live not for self alone life's little day; And scatter blessings in thy heavenward way.. Let every day, ere its swift flight be o'er,

Witness some act of mercy and of love;A kindly word, if thou canst give no more, To stand recorded with thy name above. Awake! improve the moments as they fly!

Arouse, and gird thee for the daily strife! Lest, all too late, in hopeless grief thou sigh, "Perdidi vitam!—I have wasted life!"

THE business of life hitherto, would seem to be, in Paris, to die, and die violently. For the grand records, solemn materializings, impressive allegories, are for War. When the Duke of Reichstadt was dying, he made a speech-all men, dying, are made to make speeches when a political end is to be gained. This wilted scion of imperialism, expiring, shed tears, grasping a sword-the sword of his father, "which made Europe tremble," but which he could not wield. Very affecting, this, but equal to most sentiment in most books, for the logic of humanity, published, does not sell. Books hitherto, have treated of manners, customs, creeds, laws, castes,-but man not. Even Paul teaches obedience to the powers that be, whether good or bad, liberal or oppressive. The Duke of Reichstadt deserves our sympathy, quite as much as the run of Walter Scott's moral heroes: he wept, only because he could not make wrath how afresh, over lands mostly tilled by women, the men having already been executed by his father. A Feejee Island prisoner aboard an American vessel, is reported to have died of grief, because he could not get a sailor potted, or missionary cold, or something else good to eat. "Glory," says M. de Beaumont, "is the God of France." Accordingly, the god has many temples and worshippers in the capital. We shall occupy ourselves with both in this chapter.

From classic writers, youths learn that masses are nothing and heroes everything: so heroes they must be. Antiquity was a favourite book of Napoleon, who could talk glibly of Antigonus, Pyrrhus, Mithridates, Sylla,-great, because among the blind, the one-eyed are kings," and the measure of a nation's value, is the mean altitude of the whole people. But it is shocking to find so little progress made in apprehension when the practical atheism of Plato, as a devout believer in castes, and consequently in the hopeless social infamy and shame of ninety-nine out of a hundred of the human family, is mentioned without comment, by his American panegyrist; in the same way that the same panegyrist of the black-hearted Goethe, makes no mention that that man lived for years near his mother, and never went to see her, and his only observation on the battle of Jena, where his countrymen were defeated, was, that he hoped his papers were not destroyed. Much as the French, typified by Napoleon, read of the ancients, the most valuable and memorable phrase in any Roman author, appears to have escaped them: "Ante Carthaginem deletam, metus hostilis in bonis artibus civitatem retinebat. Sed ubi illa formido mentibus decessit, scilicet ea quæ secundæ, res amant, lascivia atque superbia ivasere." Accordingly, they grasped the hot iron of colonization, and were burnt to the bone in the act. They made a charred waste conterminous with their territory, in the wild chase of Annexation. Cruel and corrupt, they expiated their crimes and shames in the Reign of Terror,

We are

over which lackadaisical essayists shed tears, git and hot-pressed. It was easy for Napoleon to be the one name in France. And most thoroughly is the storm-cloud heights of his head, compared with the basement of the miry mass, typified in the Column of the Place Vendôme, before which we are standing. Here is one man, some one hundred and forty feet higher, in enduring bronze, than other pedestal statues: so was the original, in comparison with other Frenchmen. But, let us not crow too loudly in comparison. building a monument six hundred feet highloftier, than the antique world-wonders-to an idea? No. To a man. It is infinitely too much even for Washington. It weakens the efforts of posterity, to have such monumental egoisms magnetising the world. All the world knows what Washington did. But he did not do all. The first flames of the Revolution were not lighted by him, and up to 1775, he was a monarchis Massachusetts gave more fighting men, than all the South put together. Warren, Starke, Schuyler, Greene, in the field; Jefferson, Henry, Rutledge, Adams, in the Senate, and Hamilton, in both, were all essential to the Revolution. Jefferson's "Declaration," laid the foundation of Independence; Hamilton's "Federalist," determined the Constitution, and as writer of the State papers, and artificer of the foreign policy of Washington, as author of the Farewell Address, he was a master spirit; so Franklin paved the way to the American Constitution, by his introduction of Universal Suffrage, and his embassy to France established the action of that country in our favour. All the facts might determine a monument to the idea of the Revolution, and the formation of the Government, but it is a base desertion of the principle of Equality, which should guide us, to put it up to the memory of one man, or to call it by his name, or to give him a crowning place on it. "Magnificent is the spectacle of a nation governing itself,” says De Beaumont, speaking of America: it would seem that it lived on souvenirs, not principles, on a man, not action, to behold such a huge monument to one name. France, cursed with glorious antecedents and "a great man," can not advance, except through violent agencies. She has no elasticity. Precisely as we are hampered by godlike precedents, afraid of change or the future, shall we stick fast in provincialism, or proceed by jerks, instead of steady paces.

In ancient Rome, in proportion to each step made to ruin, by means of foreign conquest, an insane people put up, to the glory of the suc cessful murderer and robber, a column, or the murderer and robber put it up in honour of himself. Hence Trajan's Column. And Trajan's Column is the original of that which we are now contemplating, situated in the Place Vendôme, It is plainly seen from the Boulevards on the north, through the Rue de la Paix-Peace Street,