_School-Dreams._


It is a proud thing to go out from under the realm of a schoolmistress,
and to be enrolled in a company of boys, who are under the guidance of a
master. It is one of the earliest steps of worldly pride, which has
before it a long and tedious ladder of ascent. Even the advice of the
old mistress, and the ninepenny book that she thrusts into your hand as
a parting gift, pass for nothing; and her kiss of adieu, if she tenders
it in the sight of your fellows, will call up an angry rush of blood to
the cheek, that for long years shall drown all sense of its kindness.

You have looked admiringly many a day upon the tall fellows who play at
the door of Dr. Bidlow's school; you have looked with reverence--second
only to that felt for the old village church--upon its dark-looking,
heavy brick walls. It seemed to be redolent of learning; and stopping at
times to gaze upon the gallipots and broken retorts at the second-story
window, you have pondered in your boyish way upon the inscrutable
wonders of Science, and the ineffable dignity of Dr. Bidlow's brick
school!

Dr. Bidlow seems to you to belong to a race of giants; and yet he is a
spare, thin man, with a hooked nose, a large, flat, gold watch-key, a
crack in his voice, a wig, and very dirty wristbands. Still you stand in
awe at the mere sight of him,--an awe that is very much encouraged by a
report made to you by a small boy, that "Old Bid" keeps a large ebony
ruler in his desk. You are amazed at the small boy's audacity; it
astonishes you that any one who had ever smelt the strong fumes of
sulphur and ether in the Doctor's room, and had seen him turn red
vinegar blue, (as they say he does,) should call him "Old Bid!"