ing up their tufted branches to the heavens, and the clear-flowing fountain pouring its limpid tide with light laugh and merry song amid the sands of the waste, so does this happy period of life rise up and contrast itself with the whole period of this work-day existence. What are all the cankered cares that eat into the very heart in after life, to that season of sunshine? What the cares of riches and the toils of gain to the sauntering schoolboy? What the dark revolutions that convulse the world and overthrow empires, to him? What the rumors of lost navies and routed armies falling on his ear? They tell to his heart no sad tale; they leave on his mind no gloomy impression. He does not measure their magnitude or feel their reality. The loss of a toy, the fading of a favorite flower, would cause him more unhappiness; and even these regrets last but for a moment, and the smile chases the tear from his eyelid ere it can fall. What to him are ambition, and remorse, and avarice, and crime?—those demons that will start up around him in later life, and beguile his step, and strive to fill his mind with darkness. His ambition runs not beyond the present hour, and he is satisfied and happy if he can but lead in the boyish race, or bear away the prize in the youthful task. If he fails, he does not lay up the defeat in his heart, and brood and lament over it in useless sorrow. What is remorse to him who has done nought to darken his mind by day, or scare away slumber from his pillow at night? What is avarice to him who has never sighed for the "yellow gold," or longed after untold wealth? He has a bright summer holiday for his ownand is he not wealthy? He can roam among the green pastures, lose himself in the deep, untravelled woods, ford the cool river, swim the clear lake, gather the brightest flowers that grow on hill and valley, and pluck the sweetest fruits and berries of the wild, with none to interrupt or question. Is he not more happy in the free enjoyment of these, his daily rambles and pleasures, than the anxious lord of all these acres? Does he not enjoy with all his soul the sweet airs, and green woods, and gay flowers of the spring, the shaded wood-paths of summer, the ri pened fruits and fading glories of au tumn, and the merry sports of winter, with all its sleighing-parties, skating frolics beneath the winter moon, and the building and battles of the snowheaped fortress? All these are unalloyed delights, pouring into the youthful heart more true joy than any hardsought and expensive pleasure of after life can ever afford. Who can ever forget the joy that comes with the bright Saturday afternoon in the country? The whole school is freed from the thraldom of the bench and task, and each has to choose, among many delights, how to employ the golden hours. One little party decides for a game at ball: so the neat new bats are produced; the well-knit and high-bounding balls are got ready; the slender wickets are set up; the "sides" are carefully chosen, and each rival party labors as zealously for the victory as ever the invincible "old guard" and the gallant "Scotch Greys" toiled for the bloody prize on the deadly plain of Waterloo. Some decide for a race;" and soon the ruddy cheeks glow with a ruddier bloom, as each panting combatant flings himself, exhausted, on the high-growing grass by the goal. Others content themselves with the more quiet allurements of the top, the kite, the hoop, and the marble. High soars the painted kite, far above the wood-tops and the village steeple, and round flies the giddy hoop till the child that guides it has not breath or strength to propel it noble, light-spirited little fellow, with a thousand good qualities, and few bad ones. He seemed to master the most difficult task as if by intuition, and while further. And some get ready their fishing-gear, and sally forth to the neighboring brook or pond, properly accoutred with rod and basket. For many an hour do they continue to wade. we were slowly bungling over its first through the shallow streamlet; they paragraph, he would run it nimbly flounder through the black swamp; they through to the end, and then lend a struggle through the tangled thicket, helping hand to extricate his friend interlaced with all its twisted roots and from the quagmires of learning. He running vines; they drop in their hooks was a sort of admirable Chrichton, and at each well-known pool and eddy; and gained and maintained the lead in all return home, when the twilight begins things. He was not only the best schoto gather dimly over the landscape, and lar, but also the staunchest champion, the shadows of the old trees lengthen in the fleetest runner, and the most adroit the slanting sun, each one laden with angler in the school. Somehow or his string of speckled or silvery prizes. other, he seemed to exert a charmed influence over the prey, for they would at times leap at his hook with avidity, while they turned up their honorable noses at our own, as if they scorned to perish by any other hand than his. Our own inclination usually led us away with the angling party. It was then our chief and unalloyed pleasure, and served to sweeten many a tedious task, and many an hour of scholastic drudgery. If at any time we were degraded to the foot of the class, and our head disgraced with that vile badge, "the foolscap," we could console ourself with the delightful reminiscences of the rod and line. If at any time the dominie's rod visited upon our poor back the deficiencies of the head, that same head would be at work in pleasant thoughts of the long rod and the angle, and thereby console the afflicted body for the anguish it had caused it. If a neglected lesson occasioned a temporary imprisonment in a dark room, our fancy would beguile the dreary hours with the anticipated joy of the Saturday afternoon, and the brimming basket of glittering fish. But our reminiscences of those holidays are overcast by a gloomy cloud, which will throw a shadow over many years to come, as it has done on many an hour that is past and gone. The thought of the painful accident we now record, will often obtrude itself upon the mind when its presence is least welcome. Charley, our earliest friend, was a One bright, Saturday afternoon in summer, we were together, as usual, employed at the "angler's quiet trade," at the border of a broad and deep river in the neighborhood, regardless of all things but the glorious nibbles which were constantly twitching the buoys of our lines beneath the surface. The prey was uncommonly plenty, and we prolonged our sport hour after hour, till at length the evening shadows, that crept over the waves, admonished us to depart homeward. We were on the point of leaving, when, to my unutterable agony, I heard a heart-rending cry, a plunge into the water, and poor Charley was lost to me forever! The water was deep and rough, there was no help at hand, and neither of us could swim. The agony of terror condensed into that little moment cannot be conceived. It seemed as if, were the sum of a whole life of wretchedness united in one instant, it could not have occasioned more intense torment than I then felt. I gazed on the darkened and turbulent waters as they rolled along, and saw the supplicating agony of his upcast look, and the convulsive motion of his limbs as he struggled with the treacherous element, and, without considering the consequences of the act, I plunged in, in the vain attempt to seize the arm that was slowly sinking away from my sight; but it eluded my eager hand, and his cry for help was choked by the angry waters forever. I had retained my grasp on the low timbers on which we had stood, and to this alone owed my own preservation. I immediately raised the alarm, and search was speedily made with the light of lanterns, but the lost body of poor Charley continued to slumber that night in the waters. On the morrow it was discovered and conveyed away to its last habitation, followed by a train of sorrowing schoolmates, but none walked by the little coffin with so heavy a heart as myself. But before I attempt any further description of the scholars and their adventures, our good old teacher merits a brief notice. Methinks I can still see his kind, affectionate face, and hear his mild voice again, though the narrow house has long ago shut its iron door upon his mortal remains. He was the perfection of human kindness and gentleness, with a nature far too lenient and forbearing to rule the wild spirits of a village school. He was a deep and thoroughly read scholar, but, unfortunately, did not possess the tact to impart his learning to his pupils. But the fault, after all, rather lay with them, for if one desired to profit by his instructions, few persons had a more extensive storehouse of lore from which to communicate to others. He was an able classical scholar, and was well versed in many modern languages. But most of his pupils cared more for their amusements than for the sweet waters of learning, and were too full of mischief to attend to his teachings. He was much too gentle to apply the rod liberally, and we stood but little in awe of his presence. During school hours, he would often become completely lost in his abstruse studies, to the utter forgetfulness of the madcaps who were contriving all manner of mischief around him. Many carried little bows and arrows to the schoolroom, and the little shafts of mimic warfare would sometimes fly in volleys over his very head, without even disturbing his cogitations. Marbles would be rolled across the floor, and papers of gunpowder would be cast into the fireplace, whose explosion would scatter ashes, and fire, and smoke around. The authors of these transgressions he seldom discovered, so that they continued to carry_on their idle pranks with impunity. It was no uncommon matter for us to obtain leave from him for a short absence, and then to hurry off with our fishing-gear for a day's sport, and no notice would he take of the absent delinquents. I remember that there was a fine orchard of rare pears near the schoolhouse, and against it we made many a foray, sacking the best trees with unsparing hands. On one occasion, my friend Bill accompanied me thither, eager to load his pockets with the ripe, yellow fruit that swung so temptingly on the high branches. He commenced the assault with a big stone, which he hurled with all his strength against the thickest of the enemy; but, alas! its return to earth proved nearly fatal to his scull, upon which it descended with great effect, and left a scar upon it that has not disappeared even to this day. But I cannot better describe our master's good temper, and the estimation in which he was held even by the very rudest of our number, than by recording his virtues in verse. That good old man hath slept And many a storm hath wept ; O'er his dust the wintry tear On memory's tablet glows. For it leaves upon the plastic mind A print that ne'er decays. When the cracked and jangling school-bell, Unto its call would come. And glad were they to meet the smile Nor stern and scowling frown; From its dusty shelf brought down. But kind were all his chiding words, Affectionate and mild He loved his rude and wayward charge The gloom that weighs the heart, Ambition, pomp, and pride, That soil the minds of men, And fill their paths with stinging thorns, Nor feared the coming morrow, And for the golden present Had little cause of sorrow; But each one was as merry Or the sweetest bird that carols The memory of the old school-group And still survives when all things else I. M. Hunting Wild Animals in Africa. Ir is remarkable that, while there is a general resemblance between the animals throughout the globe, each of its grand divisions has some species peculiar to itself. Thus, North America has the bison, the musk ox, and the grizzly bear, and these are found nowhere else. The lama, jaguar, tapir, and the anteater are peculiar to South America. Africa has its hippopotamus, giraffe, gnoo, and zebra. Asia has the chetah, royal tiger, nyl-ghau, yak, and dromedary. New Holland has its kangaroos, platybus, black swan, and cereopsis. Europe has a few peculiar species, but most of those which are found there, are also met with in the northern portions of Asia. But while each division of the earth seems to afford something of the animal kind that is at once peculiar and remarkable, it must be admitted that Africa presents the most wonderful species. It furnishes us with the giraffe, which is by far the tallest of animals; it produces the larger species of elephant, which is the largest of animals; and the African lion, being superior in strength and fierceness to the Asiatic lion, is the most savage and formidable of wild beasts. But it is not on account of their remarkable qualities only that the animals of Africa are a subject of interest. In that portion of the globe there are vast plains which are almost uninhabited by man. These afford abundant sustenance for numberless herds of antelopes, of which there are many kinds; for droves of quaggas, zebras, wild asses, ostriches, and other creatures; and here they are permitted to multiply with little interruption. The lion, panther, and leopard are almost their only enemies. These occa sionally snatch a victim as he comes to the pool for water, or passes a bush or thicket where the enemy lies in ambush; but the number destroyed in this way is not sufficient greatly to check the increase of wild animals upon the plains of Africa. There are droves of antelopes stretching over the plains as far as the eye can reach, and amounting to fifteen or twenty thousand in number. It is not uncommon to see large numbers of zebras, quaggas, and even ostriches, mingling in the crowd as if they were of the same family. A New England boy who takes his gun and goes into the woods or fields, fancies that he has pretty good luck if he can bring home half a dozen robins with two or three chip squirrels. If he kills a partridge or a brace of woodcock, he stands very high in his own estimation. I have myself roamed over the country for half a day, and felt myself compensated with no larger game than this. But sporting in Africa is quite a different matter. Captain Harris, an Englishman, who travelled in the southern parts of Africa a few years since, has given an interesting account of his adventures there. The following extract presents one of the scenes which he describes upon the river Meritsane, at a distance of some five or six hundred miles north of the Cape of Good Hope. "The reports of four savages of the Batlapi tribe, who joined us yesterday,' determined us to halt a day for the purpose of hunting. Richardson and myself left the wagons at daybreak attended by these men, and crossing the river, took a northwesterly direction through a park of magnificent camelthorn trees, many of which were groaning under the huge nests of the social grosbeak; whilst others were decorated with green clusters of mistletoe, the bright scarlet berries of which were highly ornamen tal. "We soon perceived large herds of quaggas and brindled gnoos, which con tinued to join each other, until the whole plain seemed alive. The clatter of their hoofs was perfectly astounding, and I could compare it to nothing but to the din of a tremendous charge of cavalry, or the rushing of a mighty tempest. I could not estimate the accumulated numbers at less than fifteen thousand; a great extent of country being actually chequered black and white with their congregated masses. As the panic caused by the report of our rifles extended, clouds of dust hovered over them; and the long necks of troops of ostriches were also to be seen, towering above the heads of their less gigantic neighbors, and sailing past with astonishing rapidity. 66 Groups of purple sassaybys, and brilliant red and yellow hartebeests, likewise lent their aid to complete the picture, which must have been seen to be properly understood, and which beggars all attempt at description. The savages kept in our wake, dexterously despatching the wounded gnoos by a touch on the spine with the point of an assagai, and instantly covering up the carcass with bushes, to secure them from the voracity of the vultures, which hung about us like specks in the firmament, and descended with the velocity of lightning, as each discharge of our artillery gave token of prey. "As we proceeded, two strange figures were perceived standing under the shade of a tree; these we instantly knew to be elands, the savages at the same moment exclaiming with evident delight, Impoofo, Impoofo; and pressing our horses to the utmost speed, we found ourselves for the first time at the heels of the largest and most beautiful species of the antelope tribe. Notwithstanding the unwieldy shape of these animals, they had at first greatly exceeded the speed of our jaded horses, but being pushed, they soon separated; their sleek coats turned first |