these remain and grow "brighter and brighter unto the perfect day,"
while all mutable things decay. Dear old house, farewell; these
eyes may never again behold you; these feet never again cross your
threshold; but while reason remains, the memory of these haunts will
be tenderly cherished. And so we pass again from the spot with an
aching heart, and leave it to the possession of strangers.




Chapter III.

The Old School House.



But while we yet linger on this sacred spot, will enter into the
school house where our young footsteps first attempted to climb the
hill of Science. The outward appearance is the same. A pretty one
story and a half building, painted yellow with white trimmings, and a
chocolate colored door, which is reached by two stone steps.

You are then admitted into a large hall, accommodated with shelves for
the convenience of the scholars, and as we pass through this and enter
the school-room, we feel almost a child again. But we see at a glance
that our dear old teacher does not occupy the desk, and it is a
stranger's voice that strikes upon the ear. As we glance at the
well-filled seats, we readily perceive there is not one of all the
group, no, not one, that occupied those seats when we were scholars
there. But we will sit calmly down upon the teacher's desk and recall