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bay or shearing their corn, they thanked God for it; if the season proved unfavorable the labor was only a little the more, and the crop a little the worse. Their stations secured them from want, and they had no wish beyond it. What more bad Daniel to desire.

RICHARD GUY, THE SCHOOLMASTER OF INGLETOK, Having nothing to desire for himself, Daniel's ambition had taken a natural direction and fixed upon his son. He was resolved that the boy should be made a scholar; not with the prospect of advancing him in the world, but in the hope that he might become a philosopher, and take as much delight in the books which he would inherit as his father had done before him. Riches, and fank, and power appeared in his judgment to be nothing when compared to pbilosophy; and herein he was as true a philosopher as if he had studied in the

[A little before young Daniel was capable of more instruction than could be given him at home, there came a schoolmaster in declining life to gettle at Ingleton.]

Richard Guy was his name; he is the person to whom the lovers of old rhyme are indebted for the preservation of the old poem of Flodden Field, which he transcribed from an ancient manuscript, and which was printed from his transcript by Thomas Gent of York. In his way through the world, which had not been along the king's high Dunstable road, Guy had picked up a competent share of Latin, a little Greek, some practical knowledge of physic, and more of its theory; astrology enough to cast a nativity, and more acquaintance with alchymy than has often been possessed by one who never burnt his fingers in its processes. These acquirements were grafted on a disposition as obliging as it was easy; and he was beholden to nature for an understanding so clear and quick that it might have raised him to some distinction in the world if he had not been under the influence of an imagination at once lively and credulous. Five-and-fifty years bad taught him none of the world's wisdom; they had sobered his mind without maturing it; but he had a wise heart, and the wisdom of the heart is worth all other wisdom.

Daniel was too far advanced in life to fall in friendship; he felt a certain degree of attractiveness in this person's company; there was, however, so much of what may better be called reticence than reserve in his own quiet habitual manners, that it would have been long before their acquaintance ripened into anything like intimacy, if an accidental circumstance had not brought out the latent sympathy which on both sides had till then rather been apprehended than understood. They were walking together one day when young Daniel, who was then in his sixth year, looking up in his father's face, proposed this ques. tion: “Will it be any barm, father, if I steal five beans when next I go into Jonathan Dowthwaites, if I can do it without any one's seeing me?"

“And what wouldst thou steal beans for," was the reply, “when anybody would give them to thee, and when thou knowest there are plenty at home ?"

"But it won't do to have them given, father," the boy replied. “ They are to charm away my warts. Uncle William says I must steal five beans, a bean for every wart, and tie them carefully up in paper, and carry them to a place where two roads cross, and then drop them, and walk away without ever once looking behind me. And then the warts will go away from me, and come upon the liands of the person that picks up the beans."

"Nay, boy," the father made answer; "that charm was never taught by a white witch! If thy warts are a trouble to thee, they would be a trouble to any one else; and to get rid of an evil from ourselves, Daniel, by bringing it upon another, is against our duty to our neighbor. Have nothing to do with a cbarm like that!"

“May I steal a piece of raw beef then," rejoined the boy, "and rub the warts with it and bury it? For uncle says that will do, and as the beef rots, so the warts will waste away."

“Daniel," said the father, “those can be no lawful charms that begin with stealing; I could tell thee how to cure thy warts in a better manner. There is an infallible way, wbich is by washing the hands in moonshine, but then the moonshine must be caught in a bright silver basin. You wash and wash in the basin, and a cold moisture will be felt upon the hands, proceeding from the cold and moist rays of the moon." “But what shall we do for a silver basin ?" said little Daniel.

The father answered, “A pewter dish might be tried if it were made very bright; but it is not deep enough. The brass kettle, perhaps, might do better."

"Nay," said Guy, who had now begun to attend with some interest, "the shape of a kettle is not suitable. It should be a concave vessel, so as to concentrate the rays. Joshua Wilson, I dare say, would lend his brass basin, which he can very well spare at the hour you want it, because nobody comes to be shaved by moonlight. The moon rises early enough to serve at this time. If you come in this evening at six o'clock, I will speak to Joshua in the meantime, and have the basin as bright and shining as a good scouring can make it. The experiment is curious, and I should like to see it tried. Where, Daniel, didst thou learn it?" "I read it," replied Daniel, “in Sir Kenelm Digby's Discourses, and he says it never fails."

Accordingly the parties met at the appointed hour. Mambrino's helmet when new from the armorers, or when furbished for a tournament, was not brighter than Guy had rendered the inside of the barber's basin, Schoolmaster, father, and son retired to a place out of observation, by the side of the river, a wild stream tumbling among the huge stones which it had brought down from the hills. On one of these stones sat Daniel the elder, holding the basin in such an inclination towards the moon that there should be no shadow in it; Guy directed the boy where to place himself so as not to intercept the light, and stood looking complacently on, while young Daniel revolved his hands one in another within the empty basin, as if washing them. “I feel them cold and clammy, father!" said the boy. (It was the beginning of November.) “Ay," replied the father, " that's the cold moisture of the moon!” “Ay!" echoed the schoolmaster, and nodded his head in confirmation.

The operation was repeated on the two following nights; and Daniel would have kept up his son two hours later than his regular time of rest to continue it on the third if the evening had not set in with clouds and rain. In spite of the patient's belief that the warts would waste away and were wasting, (for Prince Hohenlohe could not require more entire faith than was given on this occasion,) no alteration could be perceived in them at a fortnight's end. Daniel thought the experiment had failed because it had not been repeated sufficiently often, and perhaps continued long enough. But the schoolmaster was of opinion that the cause of failure was in the basin: for that silver being the lunar metal would by affinity assist the influential virtues of the moonlight, which finding no such affinity in a mixed metal of baser compounds, might contrari. wise have its potential qualities weakened, or even destroyed, when received in a brazen vessel, and reflected from it. Flossofer Daniel assented to this theory. Nevertheless, as the child got rid of his troublesome excrescences in the course of three or four months, all parties, disregarding the lapse of time at first, and afterwards fairly forgetting it, agreed that the remedy had been effectual, and Sir Kenelm, if he had been living, might have procured the solemn attestation of men more yeracious than himself that moonshine was an infallible cure for warts.

A KIND SCHOOLMASTER AND A HAPPY BOY. Though happily thou wilt say that wands be to be wrought when they are green, lest they rather break than bend when they be dry, yet know also that he that bendeth a twig because he would see if it would bow by strength, may chance to have a crooked tree when he would have a straight.-EUPHUES.

From this time the two flossofers were friends. Daniel seldom went to Ingleton without looking in upon Guy, if it were between school hours. Guy on his part would walk as far with him on the way back as the tether of his own time allowed, and frequently on Saturdays and Sundays he strolled out and took a seat by Daniel's fireside. Even the wearying occupation of hearing one generation of urchins after another repeat a-b-ab, hammering the first rules of arithmetic into leaden heads, and pacing like a horse in a mill the same dall dragging round day after day, had neither diminished Guy's good nature, nor lessened his love for children. He had from the first conceived a liking for young Daniel, both because of the right principle which was evinced by the manner in which he proposed the question concerning stealing the beans, and of the profound gravity (worthy of a flossofer's son) with which he behaved in the affair of the moonshine. All that he saw and heard of him tended to confirm this favorable prepossession; and the boy, who had been taught to read in the Bible and in Stowe's Chronicle, was committed to his tuition at seven years of age.

Five days in the week (for in the North of England Saturday as well as Sunday is a sabbath to the schoolmaster) did young Daniel, after supping his porringer of oatmeal pottage, set off to school, with a little basket containing his dinner in his hand. This provision usually consisted of oatcake and cheese, the latter in goodly proportion, but of the most frugal quality, whatever cream the milk afforded having been consigned to the butter tub. Sometimes it was a piece of cold bacon or cold pork; and in winter there was the luxury of a shred pie, which is a coarse north country edition of the pie abhorred by Puritans. The distance was in those days called two miles; but miles of such long meas. ure that they were for him a good hour's walk at a cheerful pace. He never loitered on the way, being at all times brisk in his movements, and going to school with a spirit as light as when he returned from it, like one whose blessed lot it was never to have experienced, and therefore never to stand in fear of severity or unkindness. For he was not more a favorite with Guy for his docility, and regularity, and diligence, than he was with his schoolfellows for his thorough good nature and a certain original oddity of humor.

There are some boys who take as much pleasure in exercising their intellectual faculties, as others do when putting forth the power of arms and legs

in boisterous exertion. Young Daniel was from his childhood fond of books. William Dove use to say he was a chip of the old block; and this hereditary disposition was regarded with much satisfaction by both parents, Dinah having no higher ambition nor better wish for her son, than that he might prove like his father in all things. This being the bent of his nature, the boy having a kind master as well as a happy home, never tasted of what old Lily calls (and well might call) the wearisome bitterness of the scholar's learning. He was never subject to the brutal discipline of the Udals, and Busby's, and Bowyers, and Parrs, and other less notorious tyrants who have trodden in their steps; nor was any of that inhuman injustice ever exercised upon him to break his spirit, for which it is to be hoped Dean Colet has paid in purgatory: to be hoped, I say, because if there be no purgatory, the dean may have gone farther and fared worse. Being the only Latiner in the school, his lessons were heard with more interest and less formality. Guy observed his progress with almost as much delight and as much hope as Daniel himself. A schoolmaster who likes his vocation feels towards the boys who deserve his favor something like a thrifty and thriving father towards the children for whom he is scraping together wealth; he is contented that his humble and patient industry should produce fruit, not for himself, but for them, and looks with pride to a result in which it is impossible for him to partake, and which in all likelihood he may never live to see. Even some of the old phlebotomists have had this feeling to redeem them.

EXCEPTIONS TO ONE OF KING SOLOMON'S RULES. * Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old he will not depart from it.” Generally speaking, it will be found so; but is there any other rule to which there are so many exceptions ?

Ask the serious Christian, as he calls himself, or the professor, (another and more fitting appellative which the Christian Pharisees have chosen for them. selves,) ask him whether he has found it hold good. Whether his sons, when they attained to years of discretion, (which are the most indiscreet years in the course of human life,) have profited as he expected by the long extemporaneous prayers to which they listened night and morning, the sad Sabbaths which they were compelled to observe, and the soporific sermons which closed the domestic religiosities of those melancholy days. Ask them if this discipline has prevented them from running headlong into the follies and vices of the agefrom being birdlimed by dissipation-or caught in the spider's web of sophistry and unbelief. “It is no doubt a true observation," says Bishop Patrick, “that the ready way to make the minds of youth grow awry, is to lace them too hard, by denying them their just freedom."

Ask the old faithful servant of Mammon, whom Mammon has rewarded to his heart's desire, and in whom the acquisition of riches has only increased his eagerness for acquiring more-ask him whether he has succeeded in training up his heir to the same service. He will tell you that the young man is to be found upon race grounds, and in gaming-houses, that he is taking his swing of extravagance and excess, and is on the high road to ruin.

Ask the wealthy Quaker, the pillar of the meeting-most orthodox in heterodoxy-who never wore a garment of forbidden cut or color, never bent his body in salutation, or his knees in prayer-never uttere1 the heathen name of a day or month, nor ever addressed himself to any person without relig ously speaking illegitimate English-ask him how it has happened that the tailor has converted his sons. He will fold his hands, and twirl bis thumbs mournfully in silence. It has not been for want of training them in the way wherein it was his wish that they should go.

You are about, sir, to send your son to a public school; Eton or Westminster; Winchester or Harrow; Rugby or the Charterhouse, no matter which. He may come from either an accomplished scholar to the utmost extent that school education can make him so; he may be the better both for its discipline and its want of discipline; it may serve him excellently well as a preparatory school for the world into which he is about to enter. But also he may come away an empty coxcomb or a hardened brute-a spendthrift—a profligate-a blackguard or a sot.

To put a boy in the way he should go, is like sending out a ship well found, well manned and stored, and with a careful captain; but there are rocks and shallows in her course, winds and currents to be encountered, and all the contingencies and perils of the sea.

How often has it been seen that sons, not otherwise deficient in duty towards their parents, have, in the most momentous concerns of life, taken the course most opposite to that in which they were trained to go, going wrong where the father would have directed them aright, or taking the right path in spite of all inducements and endeavors for leading them wrong!

No such disappointment was destined to befall our Daniel. The way in which he trained up his son was that into which the bent of the boy's own nature would have led him; and all circumstances combined to favor the tendency of his education. The country abounding in natural objects of sublimity and beauty (some of these singular in their kind) might have impressed a duller imagination than had fallen to his lot; and that imagination had time enough for its workings during his solitary walks to and from school morning and evening. His home was in a lonely spot; and having neither brother nor sister, nor neighbors near enough in any degree to supply their place as playmates, he became his father's companion imperceptibly as he ceased to be his fondling. And the effect was hardly less apparent in Daniel than in the boy. He was no longer the same taciturn person as of yore; it seemed as if his tongue had been loosened, and when the reservoirs of his knowledge were opened they flowed freely.

Their chimney-corner on a winter's evening presented a group not unworthy of Sir Joshua's pencil. There sat Daniel, richer in marvelous stories than ever traveler who in the days of mendacity returned from the East; the peat fire shining upon a countenance which, weather hardened as it was, might have given the painter a model for a patriarch, so rare was the union which it exhibited of intelligence, benevolence, and simplicity. There sat the boy with open eyes and ears, raised head, and fallen lip, in all the happiness of wonder and implicit belief. There sat Dinah, not less proud of her husband's learning than of the towardly disposition and promising talents of her son--twirling the thread at her spinning-wheel, but attending to all that passed; and when there was a pause in the discourse, fetching a deep sigh, and exclaiming "Lord bless is! what wonderful things there are in the world !" There also sat Haggy, knitting stockings, and sharing in the comforts and enjoyments of the family

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