MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
fwtiml. 
For the Rural Njw-Yorker. 
SPRING. 
BY B. M PIILI.IP3. 
Tub Spring, the glorious Spring has come! 
I love it; 
With flowers beneath, and azure sky 
Above it; 
The sunlight and flic shadows fall, 
The birds wi h soft notes sweetly call, 
And through the woods, I hear the wild bees hum. 
O'er vales .and hills, the mellow light is bright— 
Is streaming; 
The annua! morn of nature’s day,— ‘ 
Is beaming; 
Over the woods, along (he lawns, 
The Spring, in glowing greenness dawns. 
And wakes '.lie flowers that slept through winter night. 
The brooks and st reams, now gaily dance 
A nd glisten ; 
Their silvery psalm I hear, and turn 
To lis'en; 
Their murimniug voices seem to say, 
Thy life is passing svvit". away, 
Is passing, passing like a pleasant trance. 
The breezes gently whisper now 
Their hlesssing; 
How soft upon my cheek, their kind 
Caressing; 
Ye virgin winds, your voices mild, 
Bring hack die titnc,*wheu 1, a eld'd. 
Had dreams of heaven the while ye kissed iny brow. 
The sun, the winds, the streams, the flowers 
Are treasure, * 
Spring pouredi out i s golden wealth 
Of pleasure; 
Let others scorn i s pure delight— 
But 1 f ir winter's dreamy night 
Will ga her joys to bless the tardy hours. 
Albion, N. Y., May, 1S52. 
€\}t Jturul Ikftrjj SGook. 
THE RED OAKS SCHOOL 
THREE YEARS AGO. 
BY MARION BIX SULLIVAN. 
A merry jingle of small bolls,—a clatter 
of horses' foot on the hard snow.—the joy¬ 
ous bark of a large dog,—the ring of an 
iron-heeled boot on the pavement,—and the 
lines were thrown back with “Steady now, 
Clifford?'’ "Sec to him Juba!” and Torn 
Bolder dashed in at the street door, sprang 
up stairs in just live leaps, and with a loud ■ 
rap burst into Harry Somers’ room, before 
the latter had time to brush away about 
half a dozen tears from his bright boyish 
cheeks, which ho did in haste, and before 
Fanny Somers had time to put down her 
apron full of kittens and run to the window, 
where she found the bay colt Clifford stand¬ 
ing quite still, and Juba, the largo dog, sit¬ 
ting down close to him, and leaning his head 
against Clifford's breast, with an expression 
of eye which plainly said, “Never fear, my 
young friend ! there is no danger; if there 
were any 1 should see it first, and should 
defend you to the last.” 
Fanny held up a kitten to him, but ho did 
not seem to think it large.enough to growl 
at, merely winking nervously at it with tho 
other eve. while the tiny kitten made a high 
back at him through tho glass, and then 
turned and scratched Fanny. 
“And you are really going, Harry! all 
packed up and strapped ; flute and violin 
locked in their cases. The latter instru¬ 
ment ynist be unpacked immediately,” con¬ 
tinued Tom, looking sedulously around at 
everything except the traces of Harry’s 
chagrin; “for mother and Hetty, and Hatty 
and Jenny, and Ben and Jim, are impatient¬ 
ly waiting for me to bring your mother, 
Fanny, and yourself to spend a jolly evening 
with us. Wait a moment while I put on 
Clifford's,blanket by way of informing him 
that he is to wait half an hour, and then 
speak to your mother about it.” So saying 
bo went down stairs at three leaps. The 
tears came into Harry’s eyes again, “Oh, if 
I were as tall and strong as he !” 
Presently arose the hum of voices from 
below; mother insisting that she could not 
spend Harry’s last evening away from homo, 
and Tom and Fanny persuading her that it 
would be much better for them all. Tom 
came up Hushed with victory, exclaiming. 
“ We’ve won ! we’ve conquered ! In half 
an hour they will he ready. Clifford is nod¬ 
ding in his blanket, and Juba is asleep in 
the sleigh with the lines in his mouth. You 
are all ready, and now let us sit down and 
talk freely of whatever makes you glad or 
sorry.” 
“ I wi]l,” cried Harry. “ I am obliged to 
keep on rny best face before mother and 
Fanny, the parting with mo is sorrow 
enough for them! I can trust you, Tom; 
you will not betray me. I know I must 
teach a school, if I keep on at college. I do 
not like to compel mother and Fanny to 
such rigid economy for the next two years, 
as they have practised during the last two. 
But this school teaching is my one particu¬ 
lar aversion. Tom, if 1 were as strong as 
you ! if I were as tall as you ! Look here, 
Tom.” said lie. pulling him up to,tho large 
mirror. “(See, 1 am only up to your shoul¬ 
der.” 
“And that.” rejoined Tom. “is as high as 
any good looking boy of eighteen, and a 
sophomore, ought to wish to be. Look, and 
pity tne. Harry ;•—a big, clumsy, six-footer, 
of eighteen, with frowzly, yellow hair, and 
sky-blue eyes, as inexpressive as those of 
the owls on Aunt Anne’s sampler. Every¬ 
body thinks 1 am a man, and ought to know 
everything; while I am so awkward that I 
do not know where to put my immense 
paws, or how to keep out of anybody’s way 
at a party, hr hide myself from everybody’s 
gaze at church. If 1 could only exchange 
conditions with you ;—your figure is perfect* 
symmetry; your brown eyes express every¬ 
thing kind and beautiful that was ever 
dreamed of; and your hair falls in bright 
chestnut curls—” 
“Bah ! I know it!” said Harry in exces¬ 
sive disgust; “ I look just like a girl.” 
“Not at all; you have all manly accom¬ 
plishments ;—you can ride drive, ience and 
shoot.' Besides, \ou are growing ; who could 
expect to recover all at once from that ter¬ 
rible sickness ? Tut whaf, pray, made you 
feel so very small all at once ?” 
“Why, Uncle Sol has just been in here, 
and—” 
“ Captain Solomon Gibbons !” exclaimed 
Tom, rolling up his eyes, and laying his fin¬ 
ger solemnly beside his nose. "Doubtless, 
ye are tlie people, and wisdom shall perish 
with you. Don’t tell mo what lie said; 1 
know every word of it. Now, Harry, I am | 
going to confide to you something that cost 
mo bitter tears of shame. Brush those 
away from your cheeks, my boy;—they 
can’t shine by the side of those I shed.— 
You are the first person I ever told; but 
you’ll not expose me. Twas last winter 
when I went down east a hundred miles—1 
wish it had been a thousand ! 1 wish it had 
been in Timbuctoo ! However, I don’t care 
now. Indeed, after I have left college, I 
don’t care who knows it. Well, ’twas a year 
ago; I was about starting to my school as 
big as I now am. Captain Solomon called 
in. ‘ Well, my boy,’ said lie, ‘you are about 
taking command of a small ship ; and, as I 
have commanded a large one, 1 am going to 
give you a little advice. Be the master. — 
Hold your ferule always in your hand, and 
hit every one that gives you a saucy look 
or answers back, or moves slowly to obey 
you. Lay down strict rules at first, and 
make severe examples of all who break 
them. This is the only way.’ 
•Well; Captain Soloman ought to know,’ 
thought I. 
On the way, I arranged and wrote down 
twelve rules, strict as possible. On the first 
morning. I walked haughtily up to my desk, 
with a big ferule in my hand, and looked 
defiantly round on fifty scholars,—many 
tall, womanly girls, very large boys, and 
several young men. 1 read my twelve se¬ 
vere rules, and expressed my firm determi¬ 
nation to punish any deviation from them. 
I saw that I bad not produced an agreeable 
impression; but they behaved with great 
propriety during tho day, and, although 1 
watched nervously, I could find no oppor¬ 
tunity to use the ferule. ‘Never mind,’ 
thought 1; ‘to-morrow will be more propi¬ 
tious.’ I dismissed the school, and remained 
to write some copies. When the house was 
still, I raised my eyes from my work, and 
was surprised to see the young men and 
largo boys still in their seats looking stead¬ 
ily at mo ‘You are dismissed.’ said I. ‘We 
arc not ready to go,’ replied one of the 
smaller boys ; ‘we have something to say 
to you first.’ ‘Well, what do you want? 
cried I. rising, and grasping the ferule. On 
this, the speaker—a small boy, not so large 
as you, Harry, with calm, mild eyes, and a 
sweet, honest face,—stepped out into the 
floor before me, while all tho young men 
and boys followed,'and ranged themselves 
behind him. ’They fixed their eyes on mo 
not impudent, but cool and determined: 
and their young leader (in every thing as in 
this;—his name is George King, or • King 
Goorgo,’ as they call him) said quietly to me. 
“ Your rules are too severe; they cannot be 
kept. Your ferule is too heavy; a blow 
from it might kill us. Wo do not need a 
ferule, nor any such rules. We mean to do 
just right; io treat you well, and learn all 
we can from you. We will treat you like a 
gentleman, if you will treat us like gentle¬ 
men.’ He paused, and they all stood like 
brazen statues gazing on me. I quailed be¬ 
fore them. The blood rushed to my fore¬ 
head. I covered my face with my hands. 
• They arc right, brave fellows !’ said I, in 
my agonized heart; ‘they are right and 1 
am wrong.’ I took my rules and ferule, and 
threw them into the fire; and then, with a 
strong effort pressing back my tears, as ev¬ 
ery oye glistened before mo, I gave my hand 
to King George, who grasped it silently.— 
They all crowded round to shake hands with 
me, but no one could speak, and l left them. 
A bum of husky voices rose behind me, in 
which I distinguished the words 'Noble fel¬ 
low ! we’ll stand up for him to the last!’ and 
before 1 was out of sight, they gave three 
cheers for ‘ Master Bolder.’ I hurried home 
and locking myself in my room, wept, with 
shame and sorrow, that I had been so mis¬ 
led by Captain Sol, and with joy that I had 
found such friends. 
4 How do you like your school ?’ asked my 
hostess, that night. 
‘ Very much, indeed,’ was my reply. 
Kind looks, confiding looks, met mo on all 
sides next morning. More than once I 
turned aside to brush away tho tears that 
wqpld start into my eyes. That was my 
first and last difficulty. There never was a 
fault which a few gentle words in private — 
not before the school—would not cure. And 
now, King Harry, hold up your head; hu¬ 
man nature is the same everywhere. 
One thing more. At the close of the 
morning session, I found resolution to say, 
with a smiling face, and a tolerably steady 
voice, * My friends, I came here yesterday 
with twelve strong rules, and a strong ferule 
to enforce them ; but, as I learn that they 
are all superfluous, I have thrown them into 
the fire. I shall rely upon your good sense 
and good nature to carry us comfortably 
through the winter. You are dismissed.’— 
Thereupon, King George sprang into tho 
middle of tho house, and waving his cap 
above his head, broke into a wil 1 hurrah, in 
which ho was joined by tho whole of tho 
boys. The girls clapped their hands, and 
laughed, and cried ; then they each came to 
my desk with a low courtesy and loving 
smile, with which'thc^y passed out.” 
“Thank you, thank you, my dear Tom ! 
You have blown away all my fears and vex¬ 
ations. 1 don’t care if I am small; I don’t 
care for Uncle Solomon; Ill not pretend to 
more strength and dignity than belong to 
me. Ill do no Hogging, but try kindness 
and courtesy instead.” 
" Stop, Harry. Wlmt is thero in your 
mind now that you do not speak ?’ 
“ Just wliat is in yours, Tom. Just what 
good Mary Brown used to teach us at the 
Sabbath school, when we were five years 
old. Yes, Torn, you learned it then first; 
but my mother taught me it when I was 
only three. Good oid Mary Brown used to 
say,‘Whatever you resolve to do, commit 
it to the Lord, and trust him to help you 
with it. If your lesson perplexes you, ask 
him to assist you. If you are alone and 
afraid, pray to him. He is always near to 
those who call on him. Do nothing without 
a prayer in your heart to the Saviour.’— 
Poor old Mary Brown has long b,een in 
Heaven; but her words live always in our 
minds. The habit of mental prayer is as 
natural as breathing to me. and as constant; 
and tho effect is, that with tho Saviour al¬ 
ways before me. and a prayer to him always 
in my heart, I cannot cherish unkindness; 
I cannot hold to anything which I find to be 
wrong ; 1 cannot deceive.” 
“ The same precisely with me. Harry; and 
if I ever h ave any success in life, it is owing 
to this habit.” 
“How much good you have done mo. 
Tom ! I was perfectly miserable when you 
came. My uncle had been telliiig mo what 
a bad school I am going to take;—liow tho 
boys have flogged their teachers, and insult¬ 
ed them in a hundred ways. .Now, Torn, 
you know 1 am cowardly; but I am gentle¬ 
manly'; I do not wish to be insulted by a 
score of stout, lmrd-fisted country lads, one 
of whom would be more than a match for 
a city boy. But now 1 don't fear. Follow¬ 
ing good Mary Brown’s directions—always 
looking to God, and depending on him,—I 
shall keep up my courage and do my best.” 
“luit, Harry, one thing; I speak to you 
like an old soldier;—I have served one cam¬ 
paign. These youn<*people have prodigious 
spirits ; they must laugh, or cry, or fight, or 
frolic, or something. You cannot repress 
their spirits. They must have some safety- 
valve. I kept three. One was, when tiny 
could not keep still any longer, to let them 
all rise and clap their hands, and laugh 
heartily, fbr three minutes; after which I 
gave them one minute to whisper, and one 
to compose themselves before study. The 
second (oh, how I wished I had your violin !) 
was, in the bad weather when they could 
not play, to let them march all round the 
house, for five minutes, to some old muster 
tune—‘Jefferson and Liberty,’or ‘Yankee 
Doodle,’—which all who could whistle were 
required to pipe up.” 
“ Your own bright invention, Tom.” 
“The third one (oh, Harry, bow 1 wished 
I had your voice which everybody but me 
calls an angel’s voice—I'll not Hatter even 
my best friend)—but I see you guess the 
third one.” 
“ Yes. thank you, and shall practice it in 
iny school.” 
“Do, and it will be tho salvation of your 
influence.” 
“ But this George King—were those liis 
letters you have read to me ?” 
“ The same; Hois an orphan who sup¬ 
ports himself by working on a farm, and 
studies all his leisure, accepts no pecuniary 
assistance, and incurs no obligation, lie is 
the smallest and the smartest boy of seven¬ 
teen that I ever knew—born for a leader. 
The country will find him out when she is 
wanting one. Now we must go. Clifford 
shakes his bells and Juba is barking. We ll 
take the violin and John Bennet will play 
half tho evei ing The Deacon’s family are 
coming to help make out the dance.” 
“All ready, Fanny?” 
“All ready,” said Fanny. 
“ All ready, mother ?” 
“All ready,” said mother. “Tom, dear, 
drive carefully.” 
“ Oh, yes; Clifford’s always careful.” 
And away they are all gone, with merry 
bells and glad hearts. Wearied with long 
standing, and altogether disgusted with city 
noises, Clifford flew rather than ran, the 
few miles which brought them to Squire 
Holder s in the nearest country town. Juba 
preceded him, barking furiously at every 
creature lie met, as much as to say, “ Let 
alone my colt.” 
Mrs. Somers almost lost her breath, and 
quite lost all courage. “Tom, dear, is the 
colt quite safe ?” said she. 
“ Oh, quite safe,” cried Tom, confidently. 
‘But. you sec. Mrs. Somers, bo is just like 
a child; he is in a hurry to see home again. 
It seems a week to him sineo we came in 
town. I shall bring you home with Old 
Pomp, whom you know very well. ’ 
“ Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Somers• “lam hard¬ 
ly acquainted with Clifford yet.” 
The red twilight had faded, and the can¬ 
dles gleamed from tho windows of Bolder 
Cottage,—a grand fabric to bear so modest 
a name. 
There was Tom’s twin sister Hetty, (Hen¬ 
rietta,) and there was Hatty, whom Harry 
had all his life firmly believed to be the 
most beautiful, gentle, and sweet-tempered 
girl in the whole habitable world, but he had 
never said any such thing, and had been es¬ 
pecially heedful that no one should infer it 
from his looks or conduct. 
On this occasion, however, Hatty looked 
so irresistibly sweet and pensive, and it was 
such an affecting circumstance that they 
should be separated for a whole winter, that 
each of them should he obliged to seek an¬ 
other partner for tho dance, another kind 
listener to their best and gentlest thoughts, 
it had nearly betrayed them both. 
Said Harry qu'etly to Tom, “Uncle Solo¬ 
mon thought I might be in danger of giving 
offence by making a favorite of one of the 
school girls; I think there will be nothing to 
'oir ou that score, while I retain the mem¬ 
ory of your sisters.” 
“I found myself in no danger,” replied 
Tom, glancing towards tho piano, where 
Fanny was playing a gay air. 
And now, while they are enjoying them¬ 
selves at Squire Bolder's let us precede 
Harry to the Red Oaks Village (so called 
from a grove which has long since disap¬ 
peared.) in the town of B., to see bow they 
are preparing for his reception. 
They have just finished the new-school 
house. It is light and convenient, with 
green blinds. The school-room has rows 
of desks on each side, and in the centre a j 
large open space for classes to stand for j 
recitation. This space is twenty feet long, 
and twelve broad. The ball door is at one 
end, and at the other the fire-place and the 
master’s desk. 
Outside, there is the open play-ground, 
the skating-pond, the long well-filled wood- 
house, &c., &c. 
“Now, boys,” said the committee, “you 
liavo a nice house, ami you shall have a 
good teacher. Behave like men, and do not 
insult your master. Let us have no more 
trouble. Our village lias got so bad a name 
that I find it very difficult to induce any¬ 
body to take it. i bad to go to a great dis¬ 
tance and say full as much as is true in its 
favor.” 
- I am going to school to learn,” said John 
Beal, who was twenty-one years of age; “ 1 
do not wish to play or to make mischief, but 
if the master insults and ridicules me, it's a 
wonder if I don t pay him.” 
“Just so with mo,” said Will Barry; “I'll 
treat him well if he treats me well.” 
“ Well,” exclaimed Joe Downer, “I have 
been (logged, and shamed, and worried all 
my life by masters, and now lam seventeen 
and I bate books ami lessons. 1 am. I rath¬ 
er guess, the tallest and, strongest one in 
the school; and I shall drag the master out 
and thrash him tho first time he touches a 
scholar ; especially if it's a girl. Mv sister 
Lucy was feruled last winter, when 1 was 
away, so that her hand is grown out of 
shape, and only for whispering to know 
where the lesson was. I have that to re- I 
venge.” 
“But this man didn’t do it,” said John I 
Beal. 
" No, ho didn’t, but the first saucy thing 
he dues do. or threatens to do. will bring me 
about his ears. I hope he is a big, strong 
man. I can’t fight with a little puny fol¬ 
low. ’ 
1 Look there, Joe.’ whispered Lucy, as 
they went to church the next Sunday.— 
"That is tho now master. Ain’t lie pretty !* 
" What ? where ?’’ cried Joe. “ What, 
only that ! That nice little girl, in boy’s 
clothes, with dear little curls. That's too 
bad ! No lighting for me; but if lie is saucy 
to you, Lucy, l will put him in the chip 
basket and carry him out on my shoulder. ’ 
The congregat ion were accustomed to join 
in singing the hymns and Harry’s voice, not 
loud and startling, not deep and hoarse, but 
low and sweet, came to evei year, and thrill¬ 
ed every heart. 
1 have heard that voice. It is an angel 
voice. This is no fable. The Swedish 
Nightingale has a sweet female voice, but 
this is a cigar manly voice, sweeter even 
than hers. In the afternoon he was invited 
into tho choir, where he modestly took the 
least conspicuous place. At eight o’clock 
on the next morning,—one hour before 
school time —most of tho young men and 
boys assembled on the hill before the school 
house for coasting. Harry was only a few 
minutes behind them. Ho met them all 
corning down, and stood aside for them to 
pass, bidding them a kind good morning.— 
llo walked slowly, for them to overtake him 
on their way back, but as they did not seem 
inclined to do so he turned about and went 
to meet them. “I could not resist the sport 
this morning,” said lie to Will Barry, who 
was the leader of the returning procession. 
" I used to coast when I was a smaller boy 
than I am now. but 1 believe I have forgot¬ 
ten how to manage a sled ; if 1 can learn 
again, I shall get somebody to make me 
one.” 
“Won’t you take a turn on mine ?” said 
Will Barry; “ it’s a pretty large one.” 
“ Thank you,”said Harry, “ I shall bo very 
glad to do so.” So lie and Will Barry led 
off the procession, amidst the hurrahs of 
the astonished boy?, whose previous teach¬ 
ers had never compromised their dignity by 
taking any notice of t'neir amusements. As 
they came uj> the hill, Harry assisting to 
draw up Will’s large sled, a little boy ran 
io meet them, carrying a large heavy ferule 
which lie presented the master with a low 
how. 
“ My father sends this to you, Sir, with 
his respects ; ho says you’ll have plenty of 
use for it. and you must not spare it. He’ll 
send you another when this is worn out.” 
Harry stopped and took the ferule, while 
the hoys all gathered round him. “ It is a 
very handsome one,” said he, “and I am ex¬ 
ceedingly obliged to your father. I shall 
have plenty of use for it, but it seems to 
me it would he more convenient for ruling 
copy-books if it was just half as long. If 
you would cut it in two for me,” said he to 
Will Barry, “1 will give you tho other half 
for your trouble.” 
“Oh, it’s not to rule copy-books,” cried 
tho small boy; “ we have tho ruled books. 
“Then what is it for ?” saitl Harry with an 
expression of wonder. 
“ Why its to ferule the hoys and girls 
with.” 
•“ Not the girls!” exclaimed Harry. “I 
should be ashamed to strike a girl; and as 
to the hoys, why you see they are most of 
them larger than I, and the small ones are, 
very likely, stronger. No, no; I came here 
to teach, not to flog. I’ll do my very best 
to teach all that want to ho taught, hut 
those that want to be feruled, must got some 
bigger man to do it for them. Como, hoys, 
we have time for another coast before nine 
o’clock.” 
When thoy entered tho school-house, the 
boys watched to see him put on the awful 
dignity which they supposed insuperable 
from the office of school- master, and which 
many of them were so anxious to upset; 
but ho did not put it on. Ho went about 
speaking good-naturedly to each one, exam¬ 
ining their hooks, &c. The ferule he put 
into his desk, saying it would he a very good 
bat. when they had a game of ball. 
Everything went on very smoothly, mid 
the hoys were let out for their morning re¬ 
cess. As they were about starting lor a 
coast, Harry came running out, with his cap 
in his hand, and laughing. 
“ 1 declare,” said he, “ I am afraid to stay 
alone with so many girls—you must take 
me with you.” 
The hoys raised a shout of merriment, 
and offered him a dozen sleds on the mo¬ 
ment. He accepted the one belonging to 
tho most savage and morose looking boy in 
the school, Clare Maris, the son of the Mr. 
Maris who had sent Harry tho ferule. Ho 
and his three brothers were constantly 
scolded and beaten by their father, who, 
though in other respects a very good and 
sensible man, believed it to be his duty to 
punish every ofl’ence severely, and so man¬ 
aged them, that little of love or kindness 
was left in their hearts. Clare had been 
beaten, on that very morning, for threaten¬ 
ing to “ come it” over the little new master. 
He had come to school with bitter and irri¬ 
tated feelings, but Harry’s reception of the 
ferule had softened him at once, and ho 
never felt kinder and happier than when lie 
took the good-natured master on his sled, 
while the others respectfully waited for them 
to lead off'. Harry set up a grand hurrah 
as they went off', in which lie was joined by 
tho entire troop. 
“ You have a capital sled, and I am very 
much obliged to you,” said Harry to Clare, 
as he assisted him to draw up the sled. 
" You are welcome to the use of it any 
time,” said Clare, laughing, “and I'll take a 
flogging for pay.” 
“Just think of it, now,” said Harry; “1 
am hardly so large as you. and not half so 
strong. How old are you r” 
“ Fourteen,” replied Clare. 
“ Only fourteen, and so tall ! I am really 
ashamed to own that 1 am eighteen years 
old.” 
“ Now I will own to you, sir, that I am 
ashamed to be'so big and so ignorant,” said 
Clare, blushing. 
“ Well then, let us shake hands; you help 
mo in coasting, and I’ll help you in your 
lessons.” 
“ Thank you, sir.” 
“ The girls must take their turn, now.” 
“I believe they are taking it, sir.” 
And so they were,—having a sort of wild 
gipsy dance, with gipsy music; but when 
the master entered, lie found them all in 
their seal s, flushed, but still, and apparently 
absorbed in study. 
On that evening Mr. Maris called on tho 
master. Ho was exceedingly grave and dis¬ 
tant, Harry received him very cordially, 
saying to him, 
“You have some fine beys in the school. 
I like them very much, and hope they will 
like me, too.” 
“They tell me,” said Mr. Maris, sternly, 
“ that you will have no punishments. That 
will never do. Boys must be flogged.” 
“ If they behave well ?” asked Harry. 
“ They never behave well, sir.” 
“Indeed, Mr. Maris, if I had been watch¬ 
ing, I could not have found any occasion, 
to-day, to punish any one.” 
“But. you will have, and you must flog 
them. We hired you—” 
“ To teach the school, which I shall do to 
the best of my ab 1 y Rut most of them 
are larger than I, and there are many of 
them more than a match for me. Will you 
come and help mo flog them if they need 
it ?” 
“ With great pleasure,” cried Mr. Maris. 
“ Thank you sir,— I will certainly send for 
you when it is necessary.” 
But Mr. Maris, greatly to his surprise, 
was never sent for.— Sartain’s Magazine. 
I Concluded next week.J 
TEE EVENING BELL. 
It was a Sabbath afternoon. The tolling 
of a church bell in the distant town, calling 
to evening worship, was the only sound 
that broke the stillness of the fisherman’s 
bay. . Softened and silvered by distance, 
tho mournful monotony of tho tones, as 
they poured through the still air, was per¬ 
fect harmony with the repose of all ani¬ 
mate and inanimate nature. It seemed like 
the world's farewell to day. 
There is something in the music of dis¬ 
tant bells, whether intended to speak tho 
language of joy or sorrow, indescribably 
solemn. It is a sound, which, unlike ail 
other sounds, except the continual falling 
of a great body of water, seems as if it were 
detached from all immediate agencies of 
any kind. The swelling and tho dying 
away to swell again, ana again to die, is 
something that accords so'strongly with tho 
full heart of man—something so powerfully 
yet dimly suggestive of the vague object of 
its distant yearnings—that when listening 
to them, we seem to hear within us a mel¬ 
ancholy echo of some great mystery. 
How much is there in the feelings of all 
of us. which language can but faintly shad¬ 
ow forth to the intelligence, but which the 
heart appreciates at once by harmonies of 
its own experience! 
No sound was to be heard except that of 
tho distant bell. 
Even in the country, and in its most quiet 
nooks, thero comes, once a week, a Sabbath 
stillness, palpably distinct from the languid 
repose of an ordinary summer’s day; and 
so it was that evening. The fishermen’s 
boats lay drawn up upon the sands, careened 
a little upon one side, with their painted 
hulls as dry as if they had never known any 
other element than that upon which they 
rested. The bay lay glittering in front.— 
Beyond lay stretched tho broad Atlantic, 
smooth and motionless. All was still, ex¬ 
cept when through the calm air, swung tho 
evening bell in mighty waves of sound. 
Fair dealing is tho bond of society. 
