quiet time; for the master would come and look over the writer's shoulder, and mildly tell him to observe how such a letter was turned up, in such a copy on the wall, which had been written by their sick companion, and bid him take it as a model. Then he would stop and tell them what the sick child had said last night, and how he had longed to be among them once again; and such was the poor schoolmaster's gentle and affectionate manner, that the boys seemed quite remorseful that they had worried him so much, and were absolutely quiet; eating no apples, cutting no names, and making no grimaces for full two minutes afterward. 9. "I think, boys," said the schoolmaster, when the clock struck twelve, "that I shall give you an extra half-holiday this afternoon." At this intelligence, the boys, led on and headed by the tall boy, raised a great shout, in the midst of which the master was seen to speak, but could not be heard. As he held up his hand, however, in token of his wish that they should be silent, they were considerate enough to leave off, as soon as the longest-winded among them were quite out of breath. "You must promise me, first," said the schoolmaster, "that you'll not be noisy, or, at least, if you are, that you'll go away first, out of the village, I mean. I'm sure you would n't disturb your old playmate and companion." 10. There was a general murmur (and perhaps a very sincere one, for they were but boys,) in the negative; and the tall boy, perhaps as sincerely as any of them, called those about him to witness, that he had only shouted in a whisper. "Then pray do n't forget, there's my dear scholars," said the schoolmaster, "what I have asked you, and do it as a favor to me. Be as happy as you can, and do n't be unmindful that you are blessed with health. Good by, all." 11. "Thank 'ee, sir" and "Good-by, sir," were said a great many times in a great variety of voices, and the boys went out very slowly and softly. But there was the sun shining, and there were birds singing, as the sun only shines, and the birds only sing, on holidays and half-holidays; there were the trees waving to all free boys to climb, and nestle among their leafy branches; the hay, entreating them to come and scatter it to the pure air; the green corn, gently beckoning toward wood and stream; the smooth ground, rendered smoother still by blending lights and shadows, inviting to runs and leaps, and long walks, nobody knows whither. It was more than boy could bear, and with a joyous whoop, the whole cluster took to their heels, and spread themselves about, shouting and laughing as they went. ""Tis natural, thank Heaven!" said the poor schoolmaster, looking after them: "I am very glad they did n't mind me.” 12. Toward night, the schoolmaster walked over to the cottage where his little friend lay sick. Knocking gently at the cottage door, it was opened without loss of time. He entered a room where a group of women were gathered about one who was wringing her hands and crying bitterly. "Oh dame!" said the schoolmaster, drawing near her chair, "is it so bad as this?" Without replying, she pointed to another room, which the schoolmaster immediately entered; and there lay his little friend, half-dressed, stretched upon a bed. 13. He was a very young boy; quite a little child. His hair still hung in curls about his face, and his eyes were very bright; but their light was of heaven, not of earth. The schoolmaster took a seat beside him, and stooping over the pillow, whispered his name. The boy sprung up, stroked his face with his hand, and threw his wasted arms around his neck, crying, that he was his dear, kind friend. "I hope I always was. I meant to be, God knows," said the poor schoolmaster. "You remember my garden, Henry?" whispered the old man, anxious to rouse him, for a dullness seemed gathering upon the child, "and how pleasant it used to be in the evening-time? You must make haste to visit it again, for I think the very flowers have missed you, and are less gay than they used to be. You will come soon, very soon now, won't you ?" 14. The boy smiled faintly-so very, very faintly—and put his hand upon his friend's gray head. He moved his lips too, but no voice came from them, no, not a sound. In the silence that ensued, the hum of distant voices borne upon the evening air, came floating through the open window. "What's that?" said the sick child, opening his eyes. "The boys at play, upon the green." He took a handkerchief from his pillow, and tried to wave it above his head. But the feeble arm dropped powerless down. "Shall I do it?" said the schoolmaster. "Please wave it at the window," was the faint reply. "Tie it to the lattice. Some of them may see it there. Perhaps they'll think of me, and look this way." 15. He raised his head and glanced from the fluttering *signal to his idle bat, that lay, with slate, and book, and other boyish property, upon the table in the room. And then he laid him softly down once more; and again clasped his little arms around the old man's neck. The two old friends and companions-for such they were, though they were man and child-held each other in a long embrace, and then the little scholar turned his face to the wall and fell asleep. 16. The poor schoolmaster sat in the same place, holding the small, cold hand in his, and chafing it. It was but the hand of a dead child. He felt that; and yet he chafed it still, and could not lay it down. 1. SHE said she was alone within the world; She whisper'd something of a lad, With eyes of blue, and light hair sweetly curl'd; But the grave had the child! And yet his voice she heard, When at the lattice, calm and mild, The mother in the twilight saw the vine-leaves stirr❜d. When thou dost by the side of thy lone pillow pray, 2. Where was the husband of the widowed thing, A soldier dares a soldier's fire; The murderous ball brought death upon its wing; Beneath a foreign sky He fell, in sunny Spain; The wife, in silence, saw him die, But the fond boy's blue eyes gave drops like sunny rain. 66 'Mother!" the poor lad cried, "He's dying! We are close by thee, father, at thy bleeding side; Mother! his lips are closed; he's dying!" 3 It was a stormy time, where the man fell, To soothe a parent's grief; Sad soul! she could not be +beguiled; She saw the bud would leave the guardian leaf! Mother!" he faintly said, "Come near me; Kiss me, and let me in my father's grave be laid; CLVI. THE LITTLE BROOK AND THE STAR. 1. ONCE upon a time, in the leafy covert of a wild, woody +dingle, there lived (for it was indeed, a thing of life) a certain little brook, that might have been the happiest creature in the world, if it had but known when it was well-off, and been content with the station assigned to it by an unerring Providence. But in that knowledge and that content, consists the true secret of happiness; and the silly little brook never found out the mystery, until it was too late to profit by it. 2. I can not say, positively, from what source the little brook came; but it appeared to well out from beneath the hollow root of an old thorn; and, collecting together its *pellucid waters, so as to form a small pool within that knotty +reservoir, it swelled imperceptibly over its irregular +margin, and slipped away, unheard,-almost unseen,-among mossy stones and entangling branches. No temerald was ever so green; never was velvet so soft, as the beautiful moss which encircled that tiny lake; and it was gemmed and embroidered, too, by all flowers that love the shade; pale primroses and nodding violets; anemones, with their fair, downcast heads; and starry clusters of forget-me-not, looking lovingly, with their pale, tender eyes, into the bosom of their native rill. 3. The hawthorn's branches were interwoven above, with those of a holly; and a woodbine, climbing up the stem of one tree, flung across to the other its +flexible arms, knotting together the mingled foliage, with its rich clusters and elegant festoons, like a fair sister, growing up under the guardianship of two beloved brothers, and, by her endearing witchery, drawing together, in closer union, their already united hearts. Never was little brook so delightfully situated; for its existence, though secluded, was neither monotonous nor solitary. A thousand trifling incidents (trifling, but not uninteresting,) were perpetually varying the scene; and innumerable living creatures, the gentlest and loveliest of the *sylvan tribes, familiarly haunted its retreat. 4. Beautiful, there, was every season with its changes! In the year's fresh morning, delicious May or ripening June, if a light breeze but stirred in the hawthorn tops, down on the dimpling water came a shower of milky blossoms, loading the air with fragrance as they fell. Then, came the squirrel with his mirthful antics. Then, rustling through fern and brushwood, stole the timid hare, half startled, as she slaked her thirst at the still fountain, by the liquid reflection of her own large, lustrous eyes. There was no lack of music round about. A song-thrush had his domicil hard by; and, even at night, his mellow voice was heard, contending with a nightingale, in scarce unequal rivalry. And other vocalists, innumerable, awoke those woodland echoes. Sweetest of all, the low, tremulous call of the ring-dove floated, at intervals, through the shivering +foliage, the very soul of sound and tenderness. 5. In winter, the glossy-green and coral clusters of the holly, flung down their rich reflections on the little pool, then |