dead minds might truly be inscribed, "Died of a Schoolmaster!"

A school may be a cemetery for dead ambition. It is natural for people, young and old, to desire to excel. As the man commonly strives to surpass his fellows in wealth, style of living, and position in society, so the child is eager to outdo his companions in his sports and his studies. Each wishes to possess the swiftest sled, the fleetest skates, the most soaring kite, the stoutest arm, and the lightest foot. So in the world of school-life, each one naturally loves to stand above his mate. He takes an honorable pride in excelling. The spirit of ambition implanted in his nature prompts him to aim high. But when he sees, as is too often the case, that his earnest efforts to do well are unappreciated; that he is misunderstood, or misrepresented; that some unfortunate defect of person or address, which he cannot remedy, is constantly operat ing to his disadvantage; that the prizes of rank, or other rewards, are borne off by those whose efforts have not been so vigorous and patient as his own; then his ambition dies out, and the school becomes its burial place.

A school may be a cemetery for affections, good feelings and generous sentiments. Children love to be beloved. They run instinctively to those who exhibit a kindly disposition. The affectionate parent is almost sure to have loving children. So the kind teacher commands the grateful affections of his pupils. They love to meet him; to listen to his instructions; to conform to his wishes. They draw sweet pleasure from bis approving smile; while his stern look is to them the severest of rebukes. In the school of such a teacher, all the loving and lovable qualities of the heart flourish and blossom. But it is far dif ferent in the school of him who governs, not by love and kindness, but by force and fear. Savage looks, loud commands, bitter invectives, sneering taunts, senseless reproaches, again and again have crushed the life out of young hearts. How often has the hard-faced master reck

lessly caused the swelling tears to flow, and the trembling limbs to quake! How often has the child, who would gladly have loved his teacher, been driven to hate him with a bitter hatred. Who can tell how much love, how many noble feelings, have been buried in the schoolroom!

The school may be a cemetery for dead truth and honor. When a teacher fails to be impartial towards his pupils; when he influences them by mean motives; when he frightens them into falsehood through fear of punishments; when he attempts to deceive them by false pretenses to knowledge that he does not possess; when he deliberately trains them to cheat the public by seeming to know more than they do know, he surely is the murderer of truth and honor; and his school is their burial ground.

A school may be a cemetery for bodily health and vigor. The wasted forms, the pale cheeks, and the nervous movements of many a scholar tell the tale of health sacrificed on the altar of emulation. Children of feeble constitutions and nervous temperament, fitter objects of care for a doctor than for a schoolmaster, engage in the struggles and rivalries of school life. The very delicacy of their phys ical condition not only makes them over-anxious about their success, but gives them, oftentimes, a clearness of comprehension, and a facility of acquisition, which delights the teacher, and too frequently prompts him to urge them onward far beyond their strength. To such children especially, the school may become a sepulchre.

Lastly, the school may be a cemetery for the faithful teacher. The self-sacrificing labors of many teachers have borne them early to the grave. "Faithful unto death,' they have obtained the "crown of life." The conscientious teacher, who appreciates the vastness of the responsibilities that weigh upon him; who looks upon each pupil as a God-given trust; whose standard of duty is planted high above the low grounds of selfishness; who values success in doing God's work as infinitely superior to

personal emoluments, and fame, and life itself; such a teacher is too apt to pay but little regard to the just claims of health, and, sooner or later, passes prematurely to the world of spirits. To such a one-and such we have known-the school is a cemetery indeed, but one embow. ered with the evergreen trees of affection, and written all over with grateful epitaphs by loving children.

Mass. Teacher.

THE CONJUROR AND THE YANKEE.-Anderson, the wizard, met with a Yankee, who stole a march on him one day after the following pattern: [Enter Yankee.]

"I say! are you Professor Anderson?"

"Yes, sir; at your service."

"Wa'al, you're a turnation smart man, and I'm somethin' at a trick, too; kinder cute, deu you know?"

"Ah, indeed; what tricks are you up to?" asked the Professor, amused at the simple fellow.

"Wa'al, I can take a red cent, and change it into a ten dollar gold piece."

"Oh, that's a mere slight-of-hand trick; I can do that, too."

"No, you can't. I'd like to see you try."

Well, hold out your hand with a cent in it."

Yankee stretches out his paw with a cent lying on it. "This is your cent, is it, sure?"

"It's nothin' else."

"Hold on to it tight-Presto! change. Now open your hand."

Yankee opened his fist, and there was a gold eagle shining on his palm.

Wa'al, you did it, I declare; much obliged to you," and Jonathan turned to go out.

"Stay!" said the Professor, "you may leave my ten dollars."

"Yours! war n't it my cent; and did'nt you turn it into that 'ere yaller thing, eh? Good bye!" and as he left the room he was heard to say, "I guess there ain't anything green about this child."-Ibid.

HOME AND SCHOOL,

Home and school are needed to complete education, and though we believe home insufficient by itself, home never ought to be superseded, and never can by any substitute be replaced. We are far from wishing to turn the holidays into an eternal grind, or the conversation of parents into a wearisome lecture. "I wish to make a friend of my son," is a common phrase in the mouths of kind fathers. Be it so. But for this purpose it is safer that the father should raise his son to his own level than sink himself to that of the boy. Conversation, betokening confidence and the admission of something like equality of intellect, gives the keenest delight to the opening intelligence of boyhood, and implies a flattery that is delicious, that stimulates and elevates, but does not intoxicate. The opportunities which may be thus obtained to improve the taste, correct the judgement, and raise the moral standard, are incalculable. By such means true manliness of character is formed, and not by encouraging boys to assume the airs and exercise the freedom of men while they are treated with the indulgence of overgrown babies. There can be no objection to a father's showing sympathy with his son's amusements, or even participating if he pleases in his games; but to gain and keep the desired friendship, the true course is to raise his son to the rank of a friend rather than lower himself to that of a playfellow. Above all, let him act as to a friend, a rational and intelligent one, explain to his son his wishes and circumstances. If he desires the boy should exert himself, and still more, if the necessity of earning a livelihood make exertion indispensable, let him say so strongly and plainly. We would by no means be always forcing upon a boy the motives of mature life; but these are matters of moment which should not be concealed, and which the majority of boys are capable of feeling acutely. Nature abhors labor without a motive; and if a boy has not the hope of distinction to stimulate his industry, if he has no taste of his own to

gratify, no special object to attain, and no hope of giving pleasure to his father, what but idleness can be expected of him? We are firmly persuaded that, if the average of attainment among the youth who come out in life is low, one very principal reason is that in the mass of society there is no general sense of the deficiency and no desire to raise the standard. We know of no object more deserving the deepest compassion than the anxious painstaking father, who, in spite of every effort and every precaution, sees the child of many hopes and of constant prayers, go astray and plunge into hopeless ruin. But if a father has left his son's early education to chance; if in choosing a public school he has looked only to the prospect of making great acquaintances, a speculation as foolish as it is mean, for school friendships are of value only between those who will be thrown together in after life; if on all occasions his fondness shows itself in pampering habits of self-indulgence; if he vaunts his own aversion to study and his contempt for book-worms, and with eyes twinkling with pleasure expresses his fears that his son "is a chip of the old block"-an apprehension which is echoed in a most cheering tone by applauding friends; if he encourages his son to form tastes beyond his income, nor ever gives a check or hints a caution till he finds inconvenint calls are made upon his pocket; what wonder if the hopeful youth goes up to the university equally unfit in disposition and in acquirements for the profession, whatever it may be, for which he is destined? And if, moreover, he spends as much in a couple of terms as had been laid by for the whole university course, who is to blame but the foolish father, who having brought his son up on turtle soup, is surprised that the young prodigal will not relish Spartan black broth, and rails, accordingly, at the perversity of human nature, and the laxity of university discipline ?-London Quarterly.

Reason is a very light rider and easily shock off.-Swift.