love, is quite a different emotion. It is rather a
slavish fear, a feeling of dread and terror. It sees in its object not
only power but hostility. It awakens not only dread but hate. The
child's fear, on the contrary, sees power united with kindness. It obeys
the one, it loves the other. It is the exact attitude of mind to which
Mr. Rarey brought the horse that was subjected to his management.

XXII.

A BOARDING-SCHOOL EXPERIENCE.

I have often wished I had the descriptive power of the man who wrote
"The Diary of a Physician." My experiences in another profession have
not been wanting in incident, often of a curious and romantic kind, and
sometimes almost startling. But the "Diary of a Schoolmaster," to be
read with interest, requires something more than a good basis of facts.
He who writes it must have, also, graphic and narrative powers--a
special gift, of which nature has been sparing to me. I had one
experience, however, many years ago, so remarkable in some of its
features, that perhaps the bare facts, stated in the simplest form,
without artifice or embellishment, will be found worthy of perusal. The
youth who was the principal actor in the scene which I am about to
describe, has been dead these many years, and I believe the family have
nearly all died out. The only survivor that I knew anything of ten years
ago was then blind, and ill of an incurable disease. There would,
therefore, perhaps be no harm in giving the youth's real name; but as
the name is one widely known, and as it is always best to avoid
unnecessary intrusion upon private affairs, I have concluded to use a
fictitious name, both for the person referred to and for the place from
which he came. In other particulars the following incident is a simple
narration of facts.

At the time of which I am writing, I had a large boarding-school for
boys, at Princeton, New Jersey. Particular circumstances gave me, for
several years, quite a run of patronage from a town in one of the
Western States, which for convenience I shall call Tompkinsville. Among
those who applied for admission from this town were two brothers, Bob
and Charlie Graham. Bob was only ten years old. Charlie was fourteen,
and as mature as most boys at nineteen. Mature, I mean, not so much in
his intellectual development, for in that respect he was rather
behindhand, but in his passions, and in his habits of independent
thought and action.

I had many misgivings about the propri