Going to School. NE of the great privi- | looks and actions, all sorts of unkind and disrespectful things of her who has done so much for him, and whom he knows he is bound to love and honor. Just see how unhappy he makes himself by his folly! He cannot stay at home. His mother, though kind and indulgent, is firm and decided. Go he must. This he knows, and he has no thought of playing truant. Yet he puts himself to all the trouble of being sulky, of crying, of losing his self-respect, of feeling that his mother has a right to be displeased with him, and to punish him. His satchel, which has but few books in it, becomes a heavy burden, and really makes his shoulder ache, because he don't want it there. His slate, which he is sometimes so fond of, when he can write and draw pictures on it, is like a leaden weight in his hand. The road, so smooth and shady, and so beautiful with flowers in the hedges, and singing birds in the trees, is dull and gloomy; and the way, which, on a playday, he would trip over in a few minutes, and think nothing of it, is now long and wearisome. His favorite dog, who dances joyously along, as if he knew what a precious good thing it is for boys to go to school, and learn to read, he takes no pleasure in. He almost hates him, because he is happy, and he would kick him, or throw stones at him, if his mother were not near. leges which all American boys enjoy, is that of going to school. Other countries may boast of their palaces, and castles, their old minsters and cathedrals, their moss-grown towers, and time-honored ruins; but we boast of our schoolhouses-our free schools-open to all, and, to all who use them right, the gateway to respectability, power, wealth, honor, happiness. But there are different ways of going to school. On these depends, in a great degree, the grand result. Here is curly-headed Charles, in the frontispiece, GOING TO SCHOOL RELUCTANTLY. He looks as demure and sorry, as if he had lost his breakfast, or his temper. A whole thunder cloud seems to have settled down on his face, and to have shaded out of it every trace of bright beauty and manly confidence. He seems ashamed of himself, angry with himself, tired of himself, and determined to make himself as uncomfortable as he can. His mother has fitted him off for school. She has done everything that a kind mother could do, to make him contented and happy, and now stands watching at the door, as he sulkily moves down the road, saying, by his As he mopes along the way, so he mopes into school, and mopes at all his lessons. His lessons would be easy and delightful, if he would take them right. But he makes them a burden, by the indulgence of this evil spirit. If he had gone to work cheerfully, he would have learned his lessons easily, said them well, and gone out briskly to play with a troop of merry boys on the green. But he is so poorly prepared, that the teacher keeps him in at recess. He takes a low place in his class-the boys are quite ashamed of him, and, when school is over, he is kept still longer, to make up his lessons. He gets home just in time for supper, having lost his share in a fine afternoon ride to the lake, in which all the family but himself were included. He eats his supper alone, goes to bed alone, and cries himself to sleep, angry with all the world for making him so unhappy, when he alone was to blame for it all. His conscience has told him so, every now and then, but he will not hear. He listens only to passion. And passion talks only to torment him. Poor fellow! He is much to be pitied. Let him sleep. Perhaps better thoughts will come to him, in his dreams, and he will wake in the morning, with a full conviction that he has been a silly boy, and a firm resolve not to be so any more. At any rate, he will wake with a feeling that sulkiness is not happiness, and that the boy who wishes to be idle, and self-indulgent, does not get his full share of the smiles of those around him, and of the comforts and pleasures of home and school. GOING TO SCHOOL CHEERFULLY. How light his step! How sunny his face! He enjoys every step of the way, as if he were going on a pleasure excursion. His well-filled satchel is no burden. He does not feel its weight. He has studied his lessons faithfully, and has no fear that he shall not recite them well. He is full of spirits and fun. He laughs with every boy he meets. His teacher salutes him with a smile and a welcome, as one whom he loves and respects. His lessons are a pleasure. They are easily learned, and soon dispatched. He is first on the play-ground, a favorite with all. In leaping, running, pitching quoits, playing ball, or any other pastime, he is almost always the winner, and yet never assumes any importance on that account. He tries to make every one happy, and, consequently, is always happy himself. He gets home early from school, and makes himself useful to his mother, whom he loves tenderly, and whom it is great delight to serve in any way he can. And now for the result. Any boy, who is not blind cau see, that Charles, if he continues to hate going to school, will become an ignorant, unhappy man, without the respect of the world or of himself. Should he become rich, by any means, he will probably be spoken of as a rich fool, and treated accordingly; and he will always be ashamed, that, having money, he cannot make the wise and good respect him. Should he be poor-but there, we will let him alone. Poor fellow, his case is bad enough now, without making it worse. ang A Will and a Way. A LAPLAND merchant must needs, one day, But he had no horse, and he had no sleigh, "Yet go I must," said the sturdy man,- For the earnest mind to fulfil." And George-you can tell his story as well as I can-George, rich or poor, will be a man, a true man, and every body will love and respect him. He may be a farmer, or a merchant, or a school-master, or a minister, or a presi-No track was there, but the traveller knew dent, no matter which, but he will know his duty, and do it. He will be cess. So he drew, from the ice-bound river, a scow, The way o'er valley and plain; The fashion he set is in fashion now, Said the resolute man-"they shall serve my turn, Whatever we must, we may And sooner or later, each man will learn That where there's a will, there's a way." HIRAM. |