lly before us. There is something within us that connects the
spring of the year with the childhood of our existence, and it is more
especially at that season, that the thrilling remembrances of long
departed pleasures are apt to steal into the thoughts; the re-awakening
of nature calling us, by a fearful contrast, to the contemplation of joys
that never can return, while all the time the heart is rendered more
susceptible by the beauteous renovation in the aspect of the external
world.

This sensation pressed strongly on my mind, as I chanced to be passing
the door of the village school, momentarily opened for the admission of
one, creeping along somewhat tardily with satchel on back, and "shining
morning face." What a sudden burst of sound was emitted--what harmonious
discord--what a commixture of all the tones in the vocal gamut, from the
shrill treble to the deep underhum! A chord was touched which vibrated
in unison; boyish days and school recollections crowded upon me;
pleasures long vanished; feelings long stifled; and friendships--aye,
everlasting friendships--cut asunder by the sharp stroke of death!

A public school is a petty world within itself--a wheel within a
wheel--in so far as it is entirely occupied with its own concerns,
affords its peculiar catalogue of virtues and vices, its own cares,
pleasures, regrets, anticipations, and disappointments--in fact, a
Lilliputian facsimile of the great one. By grown men, nothing is more
common than the assertion that childhood is a perfect Elysium; but it is
a false supposition that school-days are those of unalloyed carelessness
and enjoyment. It seems to be a great deal too much overlooked, that
"little things are great to little men;" and perhaps the mind of boyhood
is more active in its conceptions--more alive to the impulses of pleasure
and pain--in other words, has a more extended scope of sensations, than
during any other portion of our existence. Its days are not those of
lack-occupation; they are full of stir, animation, and activity, for it
is then we are in training for after life; and, when the hours of school
restraint glide slowly over, "like wounded snakes," the clock, that
chimes to liberty, sends forth the blood with a livelier flow; and
pleasure thus derives a double zest from the bridle that duty has
imposed, joy being generally measured according to the difficulty of its
attainment. What delight in life have we ever experienced more exquis