ich
contained the church, and which terminated in another street, the
principal one in the town of C----. In this was situated the school to
which I daily wended. I cannot now recall to mind the face of its good
conductor, nor of any of his scholars; but I have before me a strong
general image of the interior of his establishment. I remember the
reverence with which I was wont to carry to his seat a well-thumbed
duodecimo, the _History of Greece_ by Oliver Goldsmith. I remember the
mental agonies I endured in attempting to master the art and mystery of
penmanship; a craft in which, alas, I remained too short a time under
Mr. R---- to become as great a proficient as he made his other scholars,
and which my awkwardness has prevented me from attaining in any
considerable perfection under my various subsequent pedagogues. But that
which has left behind it a brilliant trait of light was the exhibition
of what are called 'Christmas pieces;' things unknown in aristocratic
seminaries, but constantly used at the comparatively humble academy
which supplied the best knowledge of reading, writing, and arithmetic to
be attained in that remote neighborhood.

"The long desks covered from end to end with those painted masterpieces,
the Life of Robinson Crusoe, the Hunting of Chevy-Chase, the History
of Jack the Giant-Killer, and all the little eager faces and trembling
hands bent over these, and filling them up with some choice quotation,
sacred or profane;--no, the galleries of art, the theatrical
exhibitions, the reviews and processions,--which are only not childish
because they are practiced and admired by men instead of children,--all
the pomps and vanities of great cities, have shown me no revelation of
glory such as did that crowded school-room the week before the Christmas
holidays. But these were the splendors of life. The truest and the
strongest feelings do not connect themselves with any scenes of gorgeous
and gaudy magnificence; they are bound up in the remembrances of home.

"The narrow orchard, with its grove of old apple-trees against one of
which I used to lean, and while I brandished a beanstalk, roar out with
Fitzjames,--

'Come one, come all; this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I!'--

while I was ready to squall at the sight of a cur, and run valorously
away from a casually approaching cow; the field close beside it, where
I rolled about in summer among the hay; the brook in which, despite