as treated unfairly, while no boy was
ever more ready to submit to authority when wisely and justly
administered. The following incident is an illustration in point:

One of his teachers bore the name of Cornelius Carter. We have been
unable to ascertain this gentleman's nationality, nor would his history,
if known to us, be pertinent to this work, but we have reason to
believe that he was of Scottish descent, if not actually a native of
that

"Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood."

At all events he possessed all the sterling qualities of that
clear-headed people.

A man of fine parts and scholarly attainments, earnestly bent upon doing
his whole duty, vigorous, energetic and thorough in everything, Carter
was just the man to conduct a school with mathematical precision, but at
the same time, his natural irritability was such that the whirlwind was
less fierce than his wrath, when the latter was aroused. About the time
of his advent among the pupils at the Little York public school,
gum-chewing had become an accomplishment among the boys, and though it
was a species of amusement positively forbidden, was carried on
surreptitiously throughout the school.

One dark winter morning just after a heavy fall of snow, it happened
that our friend Willard, though placed upon a bench in the middle of a
row of these gum-chewing juveniles, was himself not chewing, for the
simple reason that he had no gum to chew, and his next neighbors were
niggardly enough to refuse to give him any.

Suddenly the hawk eye of Carter swept down upon the offending group; and
quite assured that if mischief was in progress, young Glazier was in it,
came forward and stretching out his long arms, placed his palms upon the
outermost cheek of each "end boy," and brought the heads of the entire
line together with a shock that made them ring again. Then, without a
word, he caught each urchin in turn by the collar of his coat, and with
one vigorous jerk swung him into the middle of the floor and in his
sternest tones bade him stand there until further orders.

Willard did not at the moment venture to say anything, but stood with
the rest, nursing his wrath. Had he really been at fault he would have
thought nothing of it, but first to have been deprived by circumstances
of the opportunity to break the rules, and then to be punished for a
breach of them, was too much.

He waited, without a word, until the gro