University of Virginia Library

THE SCHOOLMASTER'S PROGRESS.

Master William Horner came to our village to keep school
when he was about eighteen years old: tall, lank, straight-sided,
and straight-haired, with a mouth of the most puckered and solemn
kind. His figure and movements were those of a puppet
cut out of shingle and jerked by a string; and his address corresponded
very well with his appearance. Never did that prim
mouth give way before a laugh. A faint and misty smile was
the widest departure from its propriety, and this unaccustomed
disturbance made wrinkles in the flat skinny cheeks like those in
the surface of a lake, after the intrusion of a stone. Master Horner
knew well what belonged to the pedagogical character, and
that facial solemnity stood high on the list of indispensable qualifications.
He had made up his mind before he left his father's
house how he would look during the term. He had not planned
any smiles, (knowing that he must “board round”), and it was
not for ordinary occurrences to alter his arrangements; so that
when he was betrayed into a relaxation of the muscles, it was
“in such a sort” as if he was putting his bread and butter in
jeopardy.

Truly he had a grave time that first winter. The rod of
power was new to him, and he felt it his “duty” to use it more
frequently than might have been thought necessary by those upon
whose sense the privilege had palled. Tears and sulky faces,
and impotent fists doubled fiercely when his back was turned,
were the rewards of his conscientiousness; and the boys—and
girls too—were glad when working time came round again, and
the master went home to help his father on the farm.

But with the autumn came Master Horner again, dropping
among us as quietly as the faded leaves, and awakening at least

as much serious reflection. Would he be as self-sacrificing as
before, postponing his own ease and comfort to the public good?
or would he have become more sedentary, and less fond of circumambulating
the school-room with a switch over his shoulder?
Many were fain to hope he might have learned to smoke during
the summer, an accomplishment which would probably have
moderated his energy not a little, and disposed him rather to
reverie than to action. But here he was, and all the broader-chested
and stouter-armed for his labours in the harvest-field.

Let it not be supposed that Master Horner was of a cruel and
ogrish nature—a babe-eater—a Herod—one who delighted in
torturing the helpless. Such souls there may be, among those
endowed with the awful control of the ferule, but they are rare
in the fresh and natural regions we describe. It is, we believe,
where young gentlemen are to be crammed for college, that the
process of hardening heart and skin together goes on most vigorously.
Yet among the uneducated there is so high a respect for
bodily strength, that it is necessary for the schoolmaster to show,
first of all, that he possesses this inamissible requisite for his place.
The rest is more readily taken for granted. Brains he may have
—a strong arm he must have: so he proves the more important
claim first. We must therefore make all due allowance for Master
Horner, who could not be expected to overtop his position so
far as to discern at once the philosophy of teaching.

He was sadly brow-beaten during his first term of service by
a great broad-shouldered lout of some eighteen years or so, who
thought he needed a little more “schooling,” but at the same
time felt quite competent to direct the manner and measure of his
attempts.

“You'd ought to begin with large-hand, Joshuay,” said Master
Horner to this youth.

“What should I want coarse-hand for?” said the disciple, with
great contempt; “coarse-hand won't never do me no good. I
want a fine-hand copy.”

The master looked at the infant giant, and did as he wished,
but we say not with what secret resolutions.

At another time, Master Horner, having had a hint from some
one more knowing than himself, proposed to his elder scholars to

write after dictation, expatiating at the same time quite floridly,
(the ideas having been supplied by the knowing friend,) upon the
advantages likely to arise from this practice, and saying, among
other things,

“It will help you, when you write letters, to spell the words
good.”

“Pooh!” said Joshua, “spellin' ain't nothin'; let them that
finds the mistakes correct 'em. I'm for every one's havin' a
way of their own.”[1]

“How dared you be so saucy to the master?” asked one of
the little boys, after school.

“Because I could lick him, easy,” said the hopeful Joshua,
who knew very well why the master did not undertake him on
the spot.

Can we wonder that Master Horner determined to make his
empire good as far as it went?

A new examination was required on the entrance into a second
term, and, with whatever secret trepidation, the master was obliged
to submit. Our law prescribes examinations, but forgets to provide
for the competency of the examiners; so that few better
farces offer, than the course of question and answer on these occasions.
We know not precisely what were Master Horner's
trials; but we have heard of a sharp dispute between the inspectors
whether angel spelt angle or angel. Angle had it, and
the school maintained that pronunciation ever after. Master
Horner passed, and he was requested to draw up the certificate
for the inspectors to sign, as one had left his spectacles at home,
and the other had a bad cold, so that it was not convenient for
either to write more than his name. Master Horner's exhibition
of learning on this occasion did not reach us, but we know that
it must have been considerable, since he stood the ordeal.

“What is Orthography?” said an inspecter once, in our presence.

The candidate writhed a good deal, studied the beams overhead
and the chickens out of the window, and then replied,

“It is so long since I learnt the first part of the spelling-book,

that I can't justly answer that question. But if I could just look
it over, I guess I could.”

Our schoolmaster entered upon his second term with new courage
and invigorated authority. Twice certified, who should dare
doubt his competency? Even Joshua was civil, and lesser louts
of course obsequious; though the girls took more liberties; for
they feel even at that early age, that influence is stronger than
strength.

Could a young schoolmaster think of feruling a girl with her
hair in ringlets and a gold ring on her finger? Impossible—and
the immunity extended to all the little sisters and cousins; and
there were enough large girls to protect all the feminine part of
the school. With the boys Master Horner still had many a battle,
and whether with a view to this, or as an economical ruse,
he never wore his coat in school, saying it was too warm. Perhaps
it was an astute attention to the prejudices of his employers,
who love no man that does not earn his living by the sweat
of his brow. The shirt-sleeves gave the idea of a manual-labour
school in one sense at least. It was evident that the master
worked, and that afforded a probability that the scholars worked
too.

Master Horner's success was most triumphant that winter. A
year's growth had improved his outward man exceedingly, filling
out the limbs so that they did not remind you so forcibly of a
young colt's, and supplying the cheeks with the flesh and blood
so necessary where moustaches were not worn. Experience had
given him a degree of confidence, and confidence gave him
power. In short, people said the master had waked up; and so
he had. He actually set about reading for improvement; and
although at the end of the term he could not quite make out from
his historical studies which side Hannibal was on, yet this is readily
explained by the fact that he boarded round, and was obliged
to read generally by firelight, surrounded by ungoverned children.

After this, Master Horner made his own bargain. When
school-time came round with the following autumn, and the teacher
presented himself for a third examination, such a test was pronounced
no longer necessary; and the district consented to engage

him at the astounding rate of sixteen dollars a month, with
the understanding that he was to have a fixed home, provided he
was willing to allow a dollar a week for it. Master Horner bethought
him of the successive “killing-times,” and consequent
dough-nuts of the twenty families in which he had sojourned the
years before, and consented to the exaction.

Behold our friend now as high as district teacher can ever hope
to be—his scholarship established, his home stationary and not
revolving, and the good behaviour of the community insured by
the fact that he, being of age, had now a farm to retire upon in
case of any disgust.

Master Horner was at once the pre-eminent beau of the neighbourhood,
spite of the prejudice against learning. He brushed
his hair straight up in front, and wore a sky-blue riband for a
guard to his silver watch, and walked as if the tall heels of his
blunt boots were egg-shells and not leather. Yet he was far from
neglecting the duties of his place. He was beau only on Sundays
and holidays; very schoolmaster the rest of the time.

It was at a “spelling-school” that Master Horner first met the
educated eyes of Miss Harriet Bangle, a young lady visiting the
Engleharts in our neighbourhood. She was from one of the
towns in Western New York, and had brought with her a variety
of city airs and graces somewhat caricatured, set off with
year-old French fashions much travestied. Whether she had been
sent out to the new country to try, somewhat late, a rustic chance
for an establishment, or whether her company had been found
rather trying at home, we cannot say. The view which she was
at some pains to make understood was, that her friends had contrived
this method of keeping her out of the way of a desperate
lover whose addresses were not acceptable to them.

If it should seem surprising that so high-bred a visiter should
be sojourning in the wild woods, it must be remembered that more
than one celebrated Englishman and not a few distinguished
Americans have farmer brothers in the western country, no whit
less rustic in their exterior and manner of life than the plainest
of their neighbours. When these are visited by their refined
kinsfolk, we of the woods catch glimpses of the gay world, or
think we do.

many a vulgarism to the satisfaction of wiser heads than ours.

Miss Bangle's manner bespoke for her that high consideration
which she felt to be her due. Yet she condescended to be amused
by the rustics and their awkward attempts at gaiety and elegance;
and, to say truth, few of the village merry-makings escaped
her, though she wore always the air of great superiority.

The spelling-school is one of the ordinary winter amusements
in the country. It occurs once in a fortnight, or so, and has
power to draw out all the young people for miles round, arrayed
in their best clothes and their holiday behaviour. When all is
ready, umpires are elected, and after these have taken the distinguished
place usually occupied by the teacher, the young people
of the school choose the two best scholars to head the opposing
classes. These leaders choose their followers from the mass, each
calling a name in turn, until all the spellers are ranked on one
side or the other, lining the sides of the room, and all standing.
The schoolmaster, standing too, takes his spelling-book, and gives
a placid yet awe-inspiring look along the ranks, remarking that
he intends to be very impartial, and that he shall give out nothing
that is not in the spelling-book. For the first half hour or so he
chooses common and easy words, that the spirit of the evening
may not be damped by the too early thinning of the classes.
When a word is missed, the blunderer has to sit down, and be a
spectator only for the rest of the evening. At certain intervals,
some of the best speakers mount the platform, and “speak a
piece,” which is generally as declamatory as possible.

The excitement of this scene is equal to that afforded by any
city spectacle whatever; and towards the close of the evening,
when difficult and unusual words are chosen to confound the
small number who still keep the floor, it becomes scarcely less
than painful. When perhaps only one or two remain to be
puzzled, the master, weary at last of his task, though a favourite
one, tries by tricks to put down those whom he cannot overcome
in fair fight. If among all the curious, useless, unheard-of words
which may be picked out of the spelling-book, he cannot find
one which the scholars have not noticed, he gets the last head

down by some quip or catch. “Bay” will perhaps be the sound;
one scholar spells it “bey,” another, “bay,” while the master
all the time means “ba,” which comes within the rule, being in
the spelling-book.

It was on one of these occasions, as we have said, that Miss
Bangle, having come to the spelling-school to get materials for a
letter to a female friend, first shone upon Mr. Horner. She was
excessively amused by his solemn air and puckered mouth, and
set him down at once as fair game. Yet she could not help becoming
somewhat interested in the spelling-school, and after it
was over found she had not stored up half as many of the schoolmaster's
points as she intended, for the benefit of her correspondent.

In the evening's contest a young girl from some few miles'
distance, Ellen Kingsbury, the only child of a substantial farmer,
had been the very last to sit down, after a prolonged effort on
the part of Mr. Horner to puzzle her, for the credit of his own
school. She blushed, and smiled, and blushed again, but spelt on,
until Mr. Horner's cheeks were crimson with excitement and
some touch of shame that he should be baffled at his own weapons.
At length, either by accident or design, Ellen missed a
word, and sinking into her seat, was numbered with the slain.

In the laugh and talk which followed, (for with the conclusion
of the spelling, all form of a public assembly vanishes,) our
schoolmaster said so many gallant things to his fair enemy, and
appeared so much animated by the excitement of the contest, that
Miss Bangle began to look upon him with rather more respect,
and to feel somewhat indignant that a little rustic like Ellen
should absorb the entire attention of the only beau. She put on,
therefore, her most gracious aspect, and mingled in the circle;
caused the schoolmaster to be presented to her, and did her best
to fascinate him by certain airs and graces which she had found
successful elsewhere. What game is too small for the close-woven
net of a coquette?

Mr. Horner quitted not the fair Ellen until he had handed her
into her father's sleigh; and he then wended his way homewards,
never thinking that he ought to have escorted Miss Bangle to her
uncle's, though she certainly waited a little while for his return.

We must not follow into particulars the subsequent intercourse
of our schoolmaster with the civilized young lady. All that
concerns us is the result of Miss Bangle's benevolent designs
upon his heart. She tried most sincerely to find its vulnerable
spot, meaning no doubt to put Mr. Horner on his guard for the
future; and she was unfeignedly surprised to discover that her
best efforts were of no avail. She concluded he must have
taken a counter-poison, and she was not slow in guessing its
source. She had observed the peculiar fire which lighted up his
eyes in the presence of Ellen Kingsbury, and she bethought her
of a plan which would ensure her some amusement at the expense
of these impertinent rustics, though in a manner different
somewhat from her original more natural idea of simple coquetry.

A letter was written to Master Horner, purporting to come
from Ellen Kingsbury, worded so artfully that the schoolmaster
understood at once that it was intended to be a secret communication,
though its otensible object was an inquiry about some
ordinary affair. This was laid in Mr. Horner's desk before he
came to school, with an intimation that he might leave an answer
in a certain spot on the following morning. The bait took
at once, for Mr. Horner, honest and true himself, and much
smitten with the fair Ellen, was too happy to be circumspect.
The answer was duly placed, and as duly carried to Miss Bangle
by her accomplice Joe Englehart, an unlucky pickle who “was
always for ill, never for good,” and who found no difficulty in
obtaining the letter unwatched, since the master was obliged to
be in school at nine, and Joe could always linger a few minutes
later. This answer being opened and laughed at, Miss Bangle
had only to contrive a rejoinder, which being rather more particular
in its tone than the original communication, led on yet
again the happy schoolmaster, who branched out into sentiment,
“taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,” talked of hills and dales
and rivulets, and the pleasures of friendship, and concluded by
entreating a continuance of the correspondence.

Another letter and another, every one more flattering and encouraging
than the last, almost turned the sober head of our poor
master, and warmed up his heart so effectually that he could
scarcely attend to his business. The spelling-schools were remembered

however, and Ellen Kingsbury made one of the merry
company; but the latest letter had not forgotten to caution Mr.
Horner not to betray the intimacy, so that he was in honour
bound to restrict himself to the language of the eyes, hard as it
was to forbear the single whisper for which he would have given
his very dictionary. So their meeting passed off without the explanation
which Miss Bangle began to fear would cut short her
benevolent amusement.

The correspondence was resumed with renewed spirit, and
carried on until Miss Bangle, though not over-burdened with
sensitiveness, began to be a little alarmed for the consequences
of her malicious pleasantry. She perceived that she herself had
turned schoolmistress, and that Master Horner, instead of being
merely her dupe, had become her pupil too; for the style of his
replies had been constantly improving, and the earnest and manly
tone which he assumed promised any thing but the quiet, sheepish
pocketing of injury and insult, upon which she had counted. In
truth, there was something deeper than vanity in the feelings
with which he regarded Ellen Kingsbury. The encouragement
which he supposed himself to have received, threw down the
barrier which his extreme bashfulness would have interposed
between himself and any one who possessed charms enough to
attract him; and we must excuse him if, in such a case, he did
not criticise the mode of encouragement, but rather grasped
eagerly the proffered good without a scruple, or one which he
would own to himself, as to the propriety with which it was tendered.
He was as much in love as a man can be, and the
seriousness of real attachment gave both grace and dignity to his
once awkward diction.

The evident determination of Mr. Horner to come to the point
of asking papa, brought Miss Bangle to a very awkward pass.
She had expected to return home before matters had proceeded
so far, but being obliged to remain some time longer, she was
equally afraid to go on and to leave off, a denouement being
almost certain to ensue in either case. Things stood thus when
it was time to prepare for the grand exhibition which was to close
the winter's term.

This is an affair of too much magnitude to be fully described

in the small space yet remaining in which to bring out our veracious
history. It must be “slubber'd o'er in haste,”—its important
preliminaries left to the cold imagination of the reader—
its fine spirit perhaps evaporating for want of being embodied in
words. We can only say that our master, whose school-life was
to close with the term, laboured as man never before laboured in
such a cause, resolute to trail a cloud of glory after him when
he left us. Not a candlestick nor a curtain that was attainable,
either by coaxing or bribery, was left in the village; even the
only piano, that frail treasure, was wiled away and placed in one
corner of the rickety stage. The most splendid of all the pieces
in the “Columbian Orator,” the “American Speaker,” the—
but we must not enumerate—in a word, the most astounding and
pathetic specimens of eloquence within ken of either teacher or
scholars, had been selected for the occasion; and several young
ladies and gentlemen, whose academical course had been happily
concluded at an earlier period, either at our own institution or
at some other, had consented to lend themselves to the parts and
their choicest decorations for the properties, of the dramatic portion
of the entertainment.

Among these last was pretty Ellen Kingsbury, who had agreed
te personate the Queen of Scots, in the garden scene from
Schiller's tragedy of “Mary Stuart;” and this circumstance accidentally
afforded Master Horner the opportunity he had so long
desired, of seeing his fascinating correspondent without the presence
of peering eyes. A dress-rehearsal occupied the afternoon
before the day of days, and the pathetic expostulations of the
lovely Mary—

aided by the long veil, and the emotion which sympathy brought
into Ellen's countenance, proved too much for the enforced prudence
of Master Horner. When the rehearsal was over, and
the heroes and heroines were to return home, it was found that,
by a stroke of witty invention not new in the country, the harness
of Mr. Kingsbury's horses had been cut in several places, his
whip hidden, his buffalo-skins spread on the ground, and the sleigh
turned bottom upwards on them. This afforded an excuse for the
master's borrowing a horse and sleigh of somebody, and claiming
the privilege of taking Miss Ellen home, while her father returned
with only Aunt Sally and a great bag of bran from the mill—
companions about equally interesting.

Here, then, was the golden opportunity so long wished for!
Here was the power of ascertaining at once what is never quite
certain until we have heard it from warm, living lips, whose
testimony is strengthened by glances in which the whole soul
speaks or—seems to speak. The time was short, for the sleighing
was but too fine; and Father Kingsbury, having tied up his
harness, and collected his scattered equipment, was driving so
close behind that there was no possibility of lingering for a moment.
Yet many moments were lost before Mr. Horner, very
much in earnest, and all unhackneyed in matters of this sort,
could find a word in which to clothe his new-found feelings.
The horse seemed to fly—the distance was half past—and at
length, in absolute despair of anything better, he blurted out at
once what he had determined to avoid—a direct reference to the
correspondence.

A game at cross-purposes ensued; exclamations and explanations,
and denials and apologies filled up the time which was to
have made Master Horner so blest. The light from Mr. Kingsbury's
windows shone upon the path, and the whole result of this
conference so longed for, was a burst of tears from the perplexed
and mortified Ellen, who sprang from Mr. Horner's attempts to
detain her, rushed into the house without vouchsafing him a word
of adieu, and left him standing, no bad personification of Orpheus,
after the last hopeless flitting of his Eurydice.

“Won't you 'light, Master?” said Mr. Kingsbury.

“Yes—no—thank you—good evening,” stammered poor Master
Horner, so stupified that even Aunt Sally called him “a
dummy.”

The horse took the sleigh against the fence, going home, and
threw out the master, who scarcely recollected the accident;
while to Ellen the issue of this unfortunate drive was a sleepless
night and so high a fever in the morning that our village doctor
was called to Mr. Kingsbury's before breakfast.

Poor Master Horner's distress may hardly be imagined. Disappointed,
bewildered, cut to the quick, yet as much in love as
ever, he could only in bitter silence turn over in his thoughts the
issue of his cherished dream; now persuading himself that Ellen's
denial was the effect of a sudden bashfulness, now inveighing
against the fickleness of the sex, as all men do when they are
angry with any one woman in particular. But his exhibition
must go on in spite of wretchedness; and he went about mechanically,
talking of curtains and candles, and music, and attitudes,
and pauses, and emphasis, looking like a somnambulist
whose “eyes are open but their sense is shut,” and often surprising
those concerned by the utter unfitness of his answers.

It was almost evening when Mr. Kingsbury, having discovered,
through the intervention of the Doctor and Aunt Sally the cause
of Ellen's distress, made his appearance before the unhappy eyes
of Master Horner, angry, solemn and determined; taking the
schoolmaster apart, and requiring an explanation of his treatment
of his daughter. In vain did the perplexed lover ask for time to
clear himself, declare his respect for Miss Ellen and his willingness
to give every explanation which she might require: the
father was not to be put off; and though excessively reluctant,
Mr. Horner had no resource but to show the letters which alone
could account for his strange discourse to Ellen. He unlocked
his desk, slowly and unwillingly, while the old man's impatience
was such that he could scarcely forbear thrusting in his own hand
to snatch at the papers which were to explain this vexatious mystery.
What could equal the utter confusion of Master Horner
and the contemptuous anger of the father, when no letters were
to be found! Mr. Kingsbury was too passionate to listen to reason,
or to reflect for one moment upon the irreproachable good
name of the schoolmaster. He went away in inexorable wrath;
threatening every practicable visitation of public and private
justice upon the head of the offender, whom he accused of having
attempted to trick his daughter into an entanglement which should
result in his favour.

A doleful exhibition was this last one of our thrice-approved
and most worthy teacher! Stern necessity and the power of
habit enabled him to go through with most of his part, but where

was the proud fire which had lighted up his eye on similar
occasions before? He sat as one of three judges before whom
the unfortunate Robert Emmet was dragged in his shirt-sleeves,
by two fierce-looking officials; but the chief judge looked
far more like a criminal than did the proper representative. He
ought to have personated Othello, but was obliged to excuse himself
from raving for “the handkerchief! the handkerchief!” on
the rather anomalous plea of a bad cold. “Mary Stuart” being
“i' the bond,” was anxiously expected by the impatient crowd,
and it was with distress amounting to agony that the master was
obliged to announce, in person, the necessity of omitting that part
of the representation, on account of the illness of one of the
young ladies.

Scarcely had the words been uttered, and the speaker hidden
his burning face behind the curtain, when Mr. Kingsbury started
up in his place amid the throng, to give a public recital of his
grievance—no uncommon resort in the new country. He dashed
at once to the point; and before some friends who saw the utter
impropriety of his proceeding could persuade him to defer his
vengeance, he had laid before the assembly—some three hundred
people, perhaps—his own statement of the case. He was got out
at last, half coaxed, half hustled; and the gentle public only half
understanding what had been set forth thus unexpectedly made
quite a pretty row of it. Some clamoured loudly for the conclusion
of the exercises; others gave utterance in no particularly
choice terms to a variety of opinions as to the schoolmaster's proceedings,
varying the note occasionally by shouting, “the letters!
the letters! why don't you bring out the letters?”

At length, by means of much rapping on the desk by the president
of the evening, who was fortunately a “popular” character,
order was partially restored; and the favourite scene from Miss
More's dialogue of David and Goliah was announced as the closing
piece. The sight of little David in a white tunic edged with
red tape, with a calico scrip and a very primitive-looking sling;
and a huge Goliah decorated with a militia belt and sword, and a
spear like a weaver's beam indeed, enchained every body's attention.
Even the peccant schoolmaster and his pretended letters
were forgotten, while the sapient Goliah, every time that he raised

the spear, in the energy of his declamation, to thump upon the
stage, picked away fragments of the low ceiling, which fell conspicuously
on his great shock of black hair. At last, with the
crowning threat, up went the spear for an astounding thump,
and down came a large piece of the ceiling, and with it—a shower
of letters.

The confusion that ensued beggars all description. A general
scramble took place, and in another moment twenty pairs of eyes,
at least, were feasting on the choice phrases lavished upon Mr.
Horner. Miss Bangle had sat through the whole previous scene,
trembling for herself, although she had, as she supposed, guarded
cunningly against exposure. She had needed no prophet to tell
her what must be the result of a tête-à-tête between Mr. Horner
and Ellen; and the moment she saw them drive off together, she
induced her imp to seize the opportunity of obstracting the whole
parcel of letters from Mr. Horner's desk; which he did by means
of a sort of skill which comes by nature to such goblins; picking
the lock by the aid of a crooked nail, as neatly as if he had
been born within the shadow of the Tombs.

But magicians sometimes suffer severely from the malice with
which they have themselves inspired their familiars. Joe Englehart
having been a convenient tool thus far, thought it quite time
to torment Miss Bangle a little; so, having stolen the letters at
her bidding, he hid them on his own account, and no persuasions
of hers could induce him to reveal this important secret, which
he chose to reserve as a rod in case she refused him some intercession
with his father, or some other accommodation, rendered
necessary by his mischievous habits.

He had concealed the precious parcel in the unfloored loft
above the school-room, a place accessible only by means of a
small trap-door without staircase or ladder; and here he meant
to have kept them while it suited his purposes, but for the untimely
intrusion of the weaver's beam.

Miss Bangle had sat through all, as we have said, thinking the
letters safe, yet vowing vengeance against her confederate for not
allowing her to secure them by a satisfactory conflagration; and
it was not until she heard her own name whispered through the
crowd, that she was awakened to her true situation. The sagacity

of the low creatures whom she had despised showed them at once
that the letters must be hers, since her character had been pretty
shrewdly guessed, and the handwriting wore a more practised
air than is usual among females in the country. This was first
taken for granted, and then spoken of as an acknowledged fact.

The assembly moved like the heavings of a troubled sea.
Every body felt that this was every body's business. “Put her
out!” was heard from more than one rough voice near the door,
and this was responded to by loud and angry murmurs from
within.

Mr. Englehart, not waiting to inquire into the merits of the
case in this scene of confusion, hastened to get his family out as
quetly and as quickly as possible, but groans and hisses followed
his niece as she hung half-fainting on his arm, quailing completely
beneath the instinctive indignation of the rustic public. As
she passed out, a yell resounded among the rude boys about the
door, and she was lifted into a sleigh, insensible from terror. She
disappeared from that evening, and no one knew the time of her
final departure for “the east.”

Mr. Kingsbury, who is a just man when he is not in a passion,
made all the reparation in his power for his harsh and ill-considered
attack upon the master; and we believe that functionary
did not show any traits of implacability of character. At
least he was seen, not many days after, sitting peaceably at tea
with Mr. Kingsbury, Aunt Sally, and Miss Ellen; and he has
since gone home to build a house upon his farm. And people do
say, that after a few months more, Ellen will not need Miss Bangle's
intervention if she should see fit to correspond with the umquhile
schoolmaster.