traveler 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ANGRY WORDS. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
AN OCTOBER LOUNGING. 
UNIVERSAL EDUCATION 
Popular sentiment is growing, day by day, more 
and more in favor of a broader system of culture, 
which shall be open to all men and all women. 
Within the past few months there have been several 
significant indications of this growth. One was 
seen in a resolution reported to the University 
Convocation in Albany, last August, concerning a 
suitable course of study for females, and which, 
after some discussion and amendment, was duly 
adopted. As amended it read : 
Resolved, That this Convocation recommend to 
the Regents of the l Diversity, that, whenever any 
Academy or Institute, educating women, shall have 
adopted and carried out such a course of study as 
shall render it proper, they so amend the charter of 
such Academy or Institute a* to enable it to confer 
upon those Of its pupils who shall have completed 
such a course of study, such degrees as the Regents 
may deem appropriate. 
The practical effects of this resolution may not be 
very great., for a time, at least, but it marks an ad¬ 
vance in public opinion, aud must have a good in¬ 
fluence. If but, two or three Academies or Institutes 
shall adopt proper courses of study—we opine that 
the recommendation to the Regents will not pass 
unheeded. 
Another indication of the growth alluded to, was 
clearly shown in the addresses delivered at the re¬ 
cent. dedication and opening of Cornell University. 
The founder, Mr, Cornell, aud President White, 
each gave hints that within the walls of the new In¬ 
stitution the spirit of education was to be most 
catholic. Not alone to the favored of fortune was 
to be granted its superior advantages. “I trust 
that we have made the beginning of an institution 
which will prove highly beneficial to the poor young 
men of our country,” said Mr. Cornell ; aud for 
this beginning should that class be deeply grateful. 
In these words, and in many others that were spo¬ 
ken, there were promises of a broader, more generous 
culture than has beeu known heretofore. 
Aud in the last sentence of Mr. Cornell’s address 
may we not take him at his word, and believe that 
he foreshadowed an educational system more com¬ 
prehensive and truer than any yet announced,—from 
whiek no consideration of sex should exclude seek¬ 
ers after knowledge ? “ Finally,” said he, “ I trust 
that we have laid the foundation of a University 
where, every person can find instruction iu any 
study.” Every person ; not every youug man; 
it is better than that. The speaker may not have 
bethought him of the word’s full meaning, yet we 
hope he did. We hope he used it understandiugly. 
We hope Cornell University is to bestow its rare 
advantages upon all who deserve them. Education 
is not something to which man alone has claim. 
There are no good*reasons for debarring woman 
from participation in its best and most elevating 
facilities. She is entitled to share them wherever 
they abound. 
BY EBEN E. KEXFORD 
BY OLOFFE THE DREAMER 
“Let’s play visiting,” said Jennie. “You be 
Uncle .John aud PH be mother, and I’ll come and 
make you a visit.” 
“ Pshaw !” said Dick, scornfully ; “That’s girls’ 
play, and it’s silly. Let’s play soldier, that’s ever so 
much better!” 
“ 'Tain’t a bit more silly than soldier is, and not 
half as hard work. I won’t play it, anyway,” and 
Jennie sat down on the step’s very determinedly. 
“ You’re real moan !” cried Dick, impetuously, 
“ and I know you’re lazy or you wouldn’t say play¬ 
ing soldier was hard work. I’d like to play it all 
day. Como now, won’t you V” 
“ Oh, Dick, I can’t,” said Jennie, pushing her 
hair out of her eyes; “it’s so warm, and I’m so 
tired.” 
“Tired! pooh! Lazy, you mean!” Dick said, 
with a contemptuous sneer. 
“I ain’t lazy,” protested Jennie; “not a bit 
more thau you are.” 
“ Then come play,” said Dick. 
“ I’ll play visiting,” said Jennie, “ but I won’t 
play soldier.” 
Dick's temper was up. 
“You ugly, good-for-nothiug girl! I’ll never 
play with you again! I hate yon! there now! And 
I wish you’d never speak to me again so long as you 
live!” 
Dick did not stop to think what he was saying. 
TTis anger was bo fierce and deep that he could not 
check it, and it poured itself out iu a torrent of bit¬ 
ter words. Did I say ho could n<>f check it? iPer- 
haps he might have done so, but he did not try. 
“I don’t care what you say,” .answered Jennie, 
very coolly. “I won’t play soldier anyway,” she 
added, with a laugh at, Dick’s red face and angry 
gestures. 
Dick did not answer back, for he was too mad to 
speak, and Jennie got up aud went into the house, 
leaving him alone. Shortly after Mrs. Grey called 
Dick, and bade, him go to the village on an errand. 
It was nearly dark before he got buck, and his 
mother informed him that Jennie had gone to bed 
not feeling very well. So Dick did not see her 
again that day. The next morning he was told that 
she was very sick. ' She had been taken ill suddenly, 
aud the doctor had been sent for in the night. He 
came aud pronounced it a very bad case of fever. 
Poor Dick ! The very first thought that entered 
his mind was—what if Jennie should die? And 
then the memory of his cruel, wicked words came 
up before him, and he felt ashamed of himself; and 
somehow he could not get the thought out of his 
mind that if she should die ho should feel guilty all 
his life. How much he would have given to unsay 
those words But there was uo way in which he 
could get them qut of his mind. They haunted 
him continually. 
Day by day Jennie grew worse. Dick pleaded to 
be allowed to see her for just one moment, but the 
doctor would notallow it. Strict quiet, was ordered, 
and none but her parents were admitted into the 
sick room. It seemed to Dick that he could not 
possibly get along a great while without asking her 
forgivouess. He could think of nothing but his un¬ 
kindness, It seemed so strange that he had ever 
used such words to her, his ouly sister! 
At last the doctor said there was no hope for 
Jennie. She would die in spite of all he could do 
for her- When Dick heard that he made up his 
mind that he must 3ec her again. He did not see 
how he could stand it if she were to die and not tell 
him that she forgave him for being so unkind, aud 
saying such bad, cruel things. He remembered 
how she had complained of feeliug tired, aud he 
know she must have felt the approach of the disease 
that now had her in its clasp. Aud he had called 
her “ lazy ” when she was sick! 
How still the room was where Jennie lay. He 
had uot beeu refused when he asked to see her once 
more. There was no need of his being kept away 
auy longer, for the disease had gone too far to ad- 
mitjof hope, Dr. Tiiobne said. 
Dick stood by the bed and looked down into the 
poor, pale face of his little sister. Great tears 
swelled up into his eyes, and dropped over his cheek 
like rain, when he saw the change a week had 
wrought. 
“ Oh, Jennte, say you forgive me before you die! 
Please do, Jennie, for I can’t bear it any longer so,” 
Dick cried, and knelt down by the bedside with 
his face close to hers. 
“ I love you, Dick,” she replied m a faint, weak 
voice, and held up her lips for a kiss. Dick kissed 
her with such a great pang at his heart! How he 
should miss her when she was gone! 
Jennie closed her eyes wearily. They thought 
she was dying, and the doctor lifted Dick up gently 
from the bed. But it was not death; after a little 
she opened her eyes again, and then with a sweet, 
touching 6mUe said she was going to sleep. And 
she did sleep, uot the last, long sleep of death, as 
they Imagined it to be, but slumber quiet and 
refreshing. When she woke from it, the doetor 
said she would recover if nothing happened to pre¬ 
vent it more than he could foresee. Her disease 
had turued, and J ennie had a chanCc for her life 
after all. 
Aud she did get well. Dick was her most faith¬ 
ful nurse. The lesson he had learned was never for¬ 
gotten, and he never afterward let his auger get the 
control of his better judgment. 
A mightier power than ever trod the old Roman 
roads, and marching to the Golden Milestone of a 
grainier unity. Is the traveler on the iron ways that 
make network over the world. The long train to¬ 
day, stretching past city and village and hut,— 
through the blazing torches of the procession at 
Syracuse, and the twinkling quiet of pleasant Utica, 
as it carries afternoon into night, and yesterday 
towards an over-promised to-morrow,— through au 
Enchanted Ground of oblivion and sleep, bears me 
at last into the Great City on the Bay. 
A little business—a little pleasure—a few look¬ 
ings on old fa"es, interchanges of greetings, and the 
day got a—the week—into the far-stretching past. 
It was a solemn, quiet, autumn Sabbath yester¬ 
day,— a little cloudy and chilly,—aud from Nine¬ 
teenth Street, among the avenues away into Brook¬ 
lyn, where the one Beecher, so honest and earnest- 
hearti d, sways the great cougregation at Plymouth, 
and back again into nightfall and rest, T carried my¬ 
self In thought and person. Aud to-day I am over 
South Ferry again, and loitering in the autumn 
shadows of Greenwood, with one or two or so, 
lookiug through dust to spirit, yet hardly, per¬ 
haps, with the wondrous vision of Him who over 
a single grave sealed a gorgeous In Metuoriam with 
the morning and the evening star. 
It Is a splendid achievement of delicate skill, the 
mausoleum to C'uarlotte Canda, with the subtle 
traceries of marvelous handiwork through the pure 
Italian marble, (lowers and wreaths of white cver- 
lastingness, a niche wherein stands the imaged self 
of the dear girl, whose silent voice speaks the sol¬ 
emn warning, “ Be ye also ready.” 
We are growing tired,— we have looked on and 
admired so many of the beauties and the splendors 
among the tombs,—and at last, with ft heart-sympa¬ 
thy, we stand in the gathering dusk before a square 
marble stone, on the top of which is figured an 
angel with a babe in bis arms. At the side of the 
stone, upon a white cushion, kneels the chiseled 
perfectness of a woman, “ life without its motion,” 
—so natural, even to the studs on the cuffs, and 
the ear-drops beneath the heavy masses of hair, 
that as we trace the. figures on the lace veil, we 
almost hear the rustle of the satin robe,— and wait 
iu reverence for the miserere and the prayer to be 
ended, and the petitioner to rise up and depart. 
There is no word on the monument that we can 
discover,— only, wrought into the iron gate that 
locks the iuclosure, arc the squarely angular letters 
which read “ James Gordon Bennett.” 
Amid the white mansions of the city of the dead, 
where life blooms on forever over the graves, I 
catcli myself thinking of mauy things. I was to¬ 
day on Water Sirent, at the noon-day prayer-meet¬ 
ing, just below the place of the sensationally call¬ 
ed “Wickedest Man,”—a little way from the 
dingy sign which proclaims “Sporting Man’s Hall, 
By Kit Burns.” It is a good work which is going 
on there, perhaps sometimes with ft little wrong- 
headednCss,— but 1 was glad to have been there,— 
to have seen the people that filled the low, smoke- 
grimed room,—to have heard “ I am a gambler—a 
pickpocket—a thief—I want you to pray for me,” 
—to have listened to the earnest prayer which I 
knew God heard,—and I remembered who was 
sent unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel,— 
felt that some day more than one of these self-deny¬ 
ing workers would “ shine as the brightness of the 
firmament—as the stars for ever aud ever.” 
— From the grave to the gay is only a step,— and 
I am at the Olympic pantomime to-flight, with a 
dear old friend, the pleasant companion of more 
thau one of pleasant hours that are gone, and to 
whom herewith best of love aud best of greeting. 
I am terribly fatigued, but forget it all as the fun 
and the frolic of the stage grow more and more 
furious, aud it. must be that we are adding pounds 
to our weight, as well as pleasantness to our 
thought, that will not thence speedily depart. 
by a similar mild hypocrisy, presenting preten¬ 
tious frouts while iu reality the meanest huts that 
were ever dignified by worship. One traveler says 
he caught a glimpse of the church in Santa Cruz, 
and was struck by its imposingness; then he went 
into a bit of wood, and looked in vain for the. build¬ 
ing when ue emerged. It had vanished. lustcad 
of the handsome facade, painted white, that he 
he had seen, there was only a tall, dead wall, with¬ 
out side walls, or rear or roof, which his guide 
pointed out when he inquired for the church. But 
this was indeed the church, — not by any means im¬ 
posing, as seeu in its true character, but a veritable 
imposition and cheat. 
Shams and deceits arc common. Fine exteriors 
will not always hear close inspection; veneer is a 
universal commodity, universally used. But. while 
we are all given to “putting a good front On it,” 
the Brazilians, if stories and sketches of travelers 
are to be believed, greatly excel in this particular. 
Deception iu architecture they have really carried 
to a fine art. Our engraving illustrates this fact. 
Prominent in the foreground is a Brazilian Treasury 
Office,— an imposing structure as regarded trom a 
certain stand point, but from our point of view 
chiefiy suggestive of economy, as perhaps a Treas¬ 
ury Office should be, in any country. 
Some of the churches in Brazil are characterized 
Written for Moore's Kural New-Yorker. 
A TEACHER’S OPINIONS.-No. IV 
CONCERNING NIGHT WORK 
— An old picture, whose outlines I can just dis¬ 
tinguish, is facing me in the dusk and the stillness 
of my own room:—for my two or three days of 
leisure arc over, and to-morrow come care and 
thought again. It is a representation of a man of 
middle age, idly leaning over the rocks ou a shore, 
and gazing far out on an Illimitable 3ea. And some¬ 
times, even as now, in this autumn twilight., I im¬ 
agine myself to be the figure of the picture, look¬ 
ing out over the ocean of life and dreaming of 
Stories that Might Be True. 
“And I smile to think God’s greatness flows around our 
incompleteness, 
Round our resilessness, His rest.’’ 
How the least money may be expended, in mat¬ 
ters relating to the furnishing of schools, is a ques¬ 
tion that often looms up before a certain class of 
district residents—a class too numerous for any 
district's good. And strange as it may appear to 
us in our reflective moods, it is a truth that cannot 
be refuted, that the question of paying the teacher 
brings with it a larger amount or hesitation ttian 
any other of a school nature. It any competent (?) 
trustee should be asked, “ Do you want a good 
teacher?” his reply would, no doubt, be, “Most 
certainly; - ’ but as a rejoinder to this, ask him, 
“Are you willing to give a good teacher proper 
compensation?” and almost invariably his idea of 
“proper compensation” is either thought or ex¬ 
pressed to be, barely sufficient to decently board 
and clothe the recipient! 
How is this action understood, in what method ia 
it expressed? We see the trustee, who has auy re¬ 
gard lor his reputation, seeking out a good, quali¬ 
fied instructor it may be; but iu conjunction, he 
seeks where he can get the best work done, at the 
very smallest cost. Now, it is generally known, 
that female teachers are employed at greatly re¬ 
duced prices from those obtained by males; while 
at the same time they frequently arc the more ex¬ 
cellent tutors. Custom has brought up too many 
of our district trustees. They know that, par¬ 
ticularly iu the primary departmeuta of education, 
our female teachers arc very much superior to their 
“ bigger oppositions.” Our infantile experiences 
arc certainly forgotten, if we cannot recollect the 
maternal solicitude felt for us by her who was called 
to “ teach our youug ideas how to shoot,” just when 
wc needed such a teacher. For dolug her work doubly 
as well, shall she be compensated ouly two-thirds 
as liberally ? 
The mere matter of demand aud supply has noth¬ 
ing to do with the facts in our question. Suppose 
that a female’s board and clothing—the merest 
necessities —a re a little less thau a man’s, must 
she be necessitated to be made an equal drudge 
with him on that account, and fare not nearly as 
well? Let us be rational. Would we, as men, 
exchanging for the time the question of necessities, 
be willing to teach as long and as well as our femi¬ 
nine coadjutors, and at the same time be content to 
receive so little compensation ? Not so. 
Let us, while asking greater care, more thought, 
and very much more affection of female teachers, 
be wiUiinj at least to compensate them fully; and 
then think how void all willingness is of goodness, 
if not accompanied by uction. The truth is, we 
have a large corps of very inefficient instructors in 
our State; and my opinion is, that paucity of com¬ 
pensation deters those who would be good teachers 
from thus engaging, and draws them to more lucra¬ 
tive occupations. Samol. 
Tom Moore spoke truly when he said 
“The best of all ways 
To lenglfieti our days 
Is to steal a few hours from the night." 
Only we must steal for a good purpose, not for 
pleasure or dissipation, else we are losers instead of 
gainers by the theft. Moderate night work does no 
hurt to bodily or mental health, but rather the con¬ 
trary, I fancy, and 1 speak from experience. Note 
how well, and to what old age, uocturual toilers aud 
watchers retain their strength and faculties. Look 
at astronomers whom, in our mind’s eye, are al¬ 
ways regarded as suowy-Iocked, yet vigorous-miud- 
ed, strong-framed men. And are they uot, as a 
rule? Remember .Galileo, living to 7$, llevetius, 
wateblug till he was 70, and Copernicus till he 
reached 70. Take the English astronomers, too. 
There was Flomstead, who in despite of a disor¬ 
dered body, toiled by night and by day, harder, he 
said, than a corn-thresher, and yet he reached 78; 
Bradley, who did as much night-watching, ran out 
the allotted period of three score and ten years; 
and his successor, Maskelyue, told four score all but 
one year. 
Then call to mind grand old Hersehel, whose 
daily labors and night-watchings lasted so long, and 
were performed so well, that he may be said to have 
done the work of there lives, and ho reached the good 
age of 84. And have we uot his son, a giant iu 
science, who stole hour after hour from the starry 
nights of bis youth, aud gives us now sparkling es¬ 
says and sound lessons fraught with the experience 
which 86 years have now gathered to his garner? 
Lastly, learn that Macdler, who is now 74, went to 
the British Association a few weeks back, aud told 
the savans something that proved his eye, after an 
operation for cataract, and his intellect to be as good 
as they were when 80 yetrs ago he made his noble 
map of the moon, a work that must have involved 
night-watchiug enough to send an ordinary eight- 
hour sleeper into an everlasting doze. Who so 
wishes to rob the night to the best advantage, let 
him sleep for two or three hours, then get up and 
work for two hours, and then sleep out the balance 
of the night. Doing this he will not feel the toss 
of the sleep he has surrendered. 
f Miflttis 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
COMPARATIVE HISTORY. 
Edward the Third was the first to plunge into 
the ford at Blauehctaque, calling out, “ Let him 
who loves me follow.” The whole army instantly 
following, Edward gained the battle of Cressy.— 
[Markham's History of England, p. 130. 
Piz arro’s robbers being worn out with fatigue 
and disease, wished to give up the Peruvian enter¬ 
prise. Pizarro drew a line from east to west 
and then addressed them: —“Comrades, on that 
side are toil, hunger, nakedness, the drenching 
storms, battle and death ; on this side are ease and 
safety. But on that side lies Peru with its wealth; 
on this is Panama with its poverty. Choose, each 
man, what best becomes a brave Castilian. For my 
part, 1 go to the South. — [ Quaekenbos' History of 
the United States, p. 04. 
“Let all who arc not cowards follow me! I’ll 
show ’em where the Indians are,” exclaimed Major 
H. McGary.— 1 Life of Daniel Boone. 
“ Choose you this day, whom ye will serve, 
whether the gods which your fathers served that 
were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of 
the Amorites iu whose land ye dwell: but as for 
me and my house , we will serve the Lord. — [Joshua 
24th chapter, 15f/t verse. 
* How long halt ye between two opinions ? If 
the Lord he God, follow him; but if Baai, then fol¬ 
low him.— [ Kings, V&th chapter,'list verse. 
These passages of History demonstrate the power 
of words fitly chosen and appropriate to the circum¬ 
stances. In fact, this is true natural eloquence. 
The uttcrer always finds a hearty response lu the 
heart of the hearer. Edward appealed to their 
affectionate loyalty, Pizarro to their national 
pride, Major McGary to their unwavering bravery 
before a l'oe, Joshua to their judgment and the 
force of his example, and Elijah to their discrimi¬ 
nating faculties. 
But this only proves that man has weaknesses, 
that, under peculiar impulses, can be wrought up to 
mania. The Englishmen did not feel interested in 
the crown of France. The Castilians hesitated to go 
South. The Kentuckians thought the most prudent 
course was to await reinforcements from LcxingtOD. 
The Israelites were in favor of the old path of their 
fathers. The Jews were fascinated by the gorgeous 
pretensions of Baal. But when the key-word was 
given, the masses became harmonious as a matter 
of course. The “bloody cross” was erected aud 
borne from miud to mind, and as it went on, all fell 
into its wake, without asking the reason why. 
Thus souls were fired up with enthusiasm, which 
spurns logical deductions. The soldiery rushed to 
“ gory beds ” or liberty, aud the devotee made haste 
to return to the covenant of the true God. 
Somerville, Tenn. Geo. F. A. Spiller, 
I testify soberly to the “ niceness” of New Eng¬ 
land girls, if those at Springfield are a fair sample. 
When the train stopped, and I alighted, to stretch 
myself and be otherwise refreshed, the depotabonnd- 
ed with them. Whether a political demonstration, 
which seemed filling the streets with stranger mili¬ 
tary companies, bands, etc., was the cause of the 
assembly or no, I could only conjecture; but the 
pleasant facts were before me, and 1 thought per¬ 
haps a wedding party had enlisted the glances and 
the good-bys which had been given,—some popular 
favorites having set out ou the journey of life and 
honeymoon together,—or maybe there was to be 
an excursion to that wonderful freak of art, the 
Hoosiek Tunnel,— or possibly some seminary, bro¬ 
ken loose for the summer solstice, was drawing to¬ 
gether again for the winter work. 
At the nest station beyond, the brakesman calls 
“Palmer,”—forgetting to add “Six hours for the 
next train,” but the time actually spins itself to 
that length, and in the pleasant room of the station 
I recline in two chairs, patient as circumstances 
permit. Just opposite, near the table, are two 
young girls, crocheting, their tongues making busy 
accompaniment to the green aud scarlet of their 
worsted trappings. They, too, are waiting for a 
late train,—and yet it wouldn’t do for me to accost 
them—the look with which they might wither my 
presumption would seud me iuto oblivion. They 
are quite pretty, and by-and-by some friends drop 
in, aud there are kisses and haud-Bliakiugs and in¬ 
quiries after everything in a breath, with the un- 
consciousness of all save themselves and each other. 
But at last I am off and away, and the morning finds 
me snoozing in a pleasant room, iu a sober village, 
which is shut up among the hills aud iu Sabbath 
quiet, seemiug to need only the witch’s stir to turn 
it iuto the caldron of seething life and bustle. 
It ia not long, since a friend’s piano, touched 
by delicate fingers, wailed for me Gottschaj.k’s 
“ Dying Poet.” It haunted me lor days, even as 
now, under these tall trees of New England, the 
heavens too misty to show their clearness, the same 
sad strain, keyed with the season’s sympathy, fills 
me with melancholy sadness. I loiter along dis¬ 
mally wet paths, and over hills whose trees drop 
cooling moisture in abundauee, or, more pleasantly, 
loll in the. little parlor, lookiug through its win¬ 
dows into the haze and the future, until the even¬ 
ing shadows gather, and the wondrous symphonies 
of the Mendelssohn Quintette sound like au echo 
Of passion which has printed buruiog kisses ou 
checks long clay cold, 
“ — to the very core 
Striking onr weary hearts, 
As some vexed memory starts 
From that long-fatlei laud, the realm of 
Nevermore.” 
Henry Ward Beecher tells, in the Ledger, that 
when he was a youngster of nine winters, he had a 
long checked apron put on him, and was set to do 
the housework—“ to set the table, to wait ou dur¬ 
ing meals, to clear oil' the things, shake and fold 
the tablecloth, wash the dishes, scour the knives 
and forks, sweep up the carpet, dust the chairs and 
furniture,” etc. “ To these tasks,” says he, “ I soon 
added the hemming of towels and napkins, and of 
coarse fabrications—bags, ticks aud such like. Dur¬ 
ing this period I also continued my stable work." 
Mr. Beecher avers that the knowledge obtained in 
this way has been of incalculable value to him all 
his life; and he thinks that meu should be made ac¬ 
quainted with such things in these days, when 
women arc emerging from the household and learn¬ 
ing trades, professions and arts. Would it not be 
well for mothers generally to train up their boys 
much as Mr. Beecher’s mother trained hers ? 
COUNT ZINZENDORF AND THE DOVE 
Count Zinzendorf was, as I dare say you know, 
a great German noble, and lived to do a great deal 
of good iu the world. Oue day, when a boy, he 
was playlug with his hoop near the banks of a deep 
river which flowed outside the walls of a castle 
where he lived, aud espied a dove struggling in the 
water. By some tneaus the poor little creature had 
fallen into the river, and was unable to escape. 
The. little. Count immediately rolled a large wash- 
iDg-tub, which had been left near, to the water’s 
edge, jumped into it, and though generally very 
timid on the water, by the aid of a stick he man¬ 
aged to steer himself across the river to the place 
where the little dove lay floating aud struggling. 
With the bird iu his arms, he guided the tub back, 
and got safely to land. After warming his little 
captive tenderly in his bosom, the boy ran with it 
into the wood and set it free. His mother, who 
had watched the whole transaction, in trembling 
anxiety for his safety, from her bed-room wiudow, 
now came out. 
“ But were you not afraid?" she asked. 
“Yes, I was rather,” answered the little boy; 
“but I could not bear that it should die so; you 
know, mother, its little ones might have been 
watching for it to come home!” 
Some suppose that every learned man is an edu¬ 
cated maD. No such thing. The man is educated 
who knows himself, and takes accurate common 
sense views of meu aud things around him. Some 
very learned men are the greatest fools in the world; 
the reason is they are not educated meu. Learning 
is only the means, not the end; its value consists in 
giving the meants of acquiring the use of that which, 
properly managed, enlightens the mind. 
There are few people who have not been occa¬ 
sionally puzzled whether to write ei or U in the 
words that eo represent the sound of long e. A very 
simple rule, says a schoolmaster, removes all diffi¬ 
culty. When the diphthong follows e, it is always ti 
—ceding, conceive, &e.; when it follows any othe- 
letter it is always ie—grief, friend, niece, &c. 
Failures.— The man who never failed is a myth. 
Such a one never lived, and is never likely to. All 
success is a series of efforts, in wbicb, when closely 
viewed, are seen more or less failures. Toe moun¬ 
tain it apt to overshadow the hill, but the hill is a 
reality nevertheless. If you Tail now and tbon, don’t 
be discouraged. Bear in mind it is only the part and 
experience of every successful man; and the most 
successful men often have the most failure?, these 
but inciting them to renewed exertions. 
The schools profess to teach the mental branches 
but they are oftener the ornamental. 
When a dog insists upon lying on the mat, would 
you consider him dog-matieally inclined? 
