the good Peter who is kept standing at the gate.

A load rested on Ivo's bosom from the day the chaplain told the
children that it was their duty to ask themselves every evening what
they had learned or what good they had done that day. He tried to act
up to the letter of this behest, and was very unhappy whenever he found
nothing satisfactory to report to himself. He would then toss about in
his bed distractedly. Yet he was mistaken. The mind grows much as the
body does: like an animal or a plant, it thrives without our being
able, strictly speaking, to see the process. We see what has grown, but
not the growth itself.

Another institution of the chaplain was wiser. He made the boys sit,
not in the order of their talents, but in that of their diligence and
punctuality. "For," said he, "industry and good order are higher
virtues, for they can be acquired, than skill and talent, which are
born with a man, and so he deserves no credit for them." Thus he
constrained the talented to labor, and inspired those of lesser gifts
with confidence. Ivo, who to very good natural parts added great
consciensciousness was soon near the head of the class, and the
President-Judge was pleased to see his sons bring him into his house.

We made the acquaintance of Judge Rellings in the story of "Good
Government." Ivo, having heard many anecdotes of his harshness, was not
a little astonished to find him a pleasant, good-natured man, fond of
playing with his children and of doing little things to give them
pleasure. Such is the world. Hundreds of men will be found who, when
talking generalities, are liberal to a degree, asseverating that all
men were born free and equal, &c., while the members of their
household, and sometimes of their family, experience nothing but the
most grinding tyranny at their hands. Others, again,--particularly
office-holders,--treat all who are not in office like slaves and
vagrants, and yet are the meekest of lambs in the four walls of their
own dwellings.

[Illustration: At the hill-top he would sit down on his little sledge.]

Though not ill pleased with life in the town, yet Ivo never heard the
curfew-bell of a Sunday evening without a little pang. It reminded him
that to-morrow would be Monday, when he must again leave his home, his
mother, Nat, and the pigeons. His daily walk gradually became invested
with cheerful associations. He always went alone, dreading the society
of Constantine, who teased him in