THE SCHOOL ALMANAC

JANUARY

He came to my desk with a quivering lip

The lesson was done

"Dear teacher, I want a new leaf," he said,
"I have spoiled this one."

In place of the leaf so stained and blotted,
I gave him a new one all unspotted,

And into his sad eyes smiled -
"Do better now, my child."

I went to the Throne with a quivering soul
The old year was done

"Dear Father, hast thou a new leaf for me?
I have spoiled this one."

He took the old leaf, stained and blotted,
And gave me a new one all unspotted;

And into my sad heart smiled

"Do better now, my

child."

"Of all sounds, of all bells most solemn and touching, is the peal which rings out the Old Year. I never hear it without a gathering up of my mind to a concentration of all the images that have been diffused over the past twelve months. I begin to know the worth of that regretted time, as when a person dies." CHARLES LAMB.

Flowers are the sweetest things that God ever made and forgot to put a soul into.

- BEECHER.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

I tell you the future can hold no terrors

For my sad soul while the stars revolve,

-TENNYSON.

If he will but stand firm on the grave of his errors,

And, instead of regretting, resolve, resolve!
It is never too late to begin rebuilding,

Though all into ruins your life seems hurled.
For look! how the light of the New Year is gilding
The worn, wan face of the bruised old world!

January. Darkness and light reign alike. Snow is on the ground, cold is in the air. The winter is blossoming in frostflowers. Old sounds are silent in the forest and in the air. Insects are dead, birds are gone, leaves have perished. So hath God wiped out the past; so hath he spread the earth, like an unwritten page, for a new year. BEECHER.

PICKWICK'S DRIVE TO MANOR FARM

Bright and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, and beautiful the appearance of every object around, as Mr. Pickwick leaned over the balustrades of Rochester Bridge, contemplating nature, and waiting for breakfast. The scene was indeed one which might well have charmed a far less reflective mind than that to which it was presented.

On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in many places, and in some overhanging the narrow beach below in rude and heavy masses. Huge knots of seaweed hung upon the pointed and jagged stones, trembling in every breath of wind; and the green ivy clung mournfully round the dark and ruined battlements. Behind it rose the ancient castle, its tower roofless, and its massive walls crumbling away, but telling us proudly of its old might and strength, as when, seven hundred years ago, it rang with the clash of arms, or resounded with the noise of feasting and revelry. On either side, the banks of the Medway, covered with cornfields and pastures, with here and there a windmill or a distant church, stretched away as far as the eye could reach, presenting a rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautiful by the changing shadows which passed swiftly across it, as the thin and half-formed clouds skimmed away in the light of the morning sun. The river, reflecting the clear blue of the sky, glistened and sparkled as it flowed noiselessly on; and the oars of the fishermen dipped into the water with a clear and liquid sound, as the heavy but picturesque boats glided slowly down the stream.

Mr. Pickwick was roused from the agreeable reverie into which he had been led by the objects before him, by a deep sigh and a touch on his shoulder. He turned round: and the dismal

man was at his side.

"Contemplating the scene?" inquired the dismal man. "I was," said Mr. Pickwick.

"And congratulating yourself on being up so soon?" Mr. Pickwick nodded assent.

"Ah! people need to rise early, to see the sun in all his splendor, for his brightness seldom lasts the day through. The morning of day and the morning of life are but too much alike."

"You speak truly, sir," said Mr. Pickwick.

"How common the saying," continued the dismal man, “The morning is too fine to last!' How well might it be applied to our everyday existence! God! what would I forfeit to have the days of my childhood restored, or be able to forget them for ever!"

"You have seen much trouble, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, compassionately.

"I have," said the dismal man hurriedly; "I have. More than those who see me now would believe possible." He paused for an instant, and then said abruptly:

"Did it ever strike you, on such a morning as this, that drowning would be happiness and peace?"

"God bless me, no!" replied Mr. Pickwick, edging a little from the balustrade, as the possibility of the dismal man's tipping over, by way of experiment, occurred to him rather forcibly.

"I have thought so, often," said the dismal man without noticing the action. "The calm, cool water seems to me to murmur an invitation to repose and rest. A bound, a splash, a brief struggle; there is an eddy for an instant, it gradually subsides into a ripple; the waters have closed above your head, and the world has closed upon your miseries and misfortunes

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forever." The sunken eye of the dismal man flashed brightly as he spoke, but the momentary brightness quickly subsided; and he turned calmly away as he said:

"There enough of that. I wish to see you on another subject. You invited me to read that paper, the night before last, and listened attentively while I did so."

"I did," replied Mr. Pickwick; “and I certainly thought "I asked for no opinion," said the dismal man, interrupting him, "and I want none. You are traveling for amusement and instruction. Suppose I forward you a curious manuscript — observe not curious because wild and improbable, but curious as a leaf from the romance of real life. Would you communicate it to the club of which you have spoken so frequently?"

"Certainly," replied Mr. Pickwick, “if you wished it; and it would be entered on their Transactions."

"You shall have it," replied the dismal man. "Your address"; and, Mr. Pickwick having communicated their probable route, the dismal man carefully noted it down in a greasy pocketbook, and, resisting Mr. Pickwick's pressing invitation to breakfast, left the gentleman at his inn, and walked slowly away.

Mr. Pickwick found that his three companions had risen, and were waiting his arrival to commence breakfast, which was ready laid in tempting display. They sat down to the meal; and devoured the broiled ham, eggs, tea, coffee, and sundries with a rapidity which at once bore testimony to the excellence of the fare and the appetites of the consumers.

"Now, about Manor Farm," said Mr. Pickwick. "How shall we go?"

"We had better consult the waiter, perhaps,” said Mr. Tupman, and the waiter was summoned accordingly.