Each cat had seven kits,

Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,

How many were going to St. Ives?"

Then there was the dilemma in which the man found himself who had come to the river with a fox, a goose, and a peck of corn, which he must take across the river in a boat, one at a time, never leaving the fox to eat up the goose, nor the goose to eat up the corn.

Then there was the poor frog at the bottom of the well who jumped up nights and fell back days. I do not know whether he ever got out. He certainly never received any assistance from me.

Among the other books upon the shelves of the old secretary was one which had escaped my memory, "Goodrich's History of the United States." The boy who commenced to study the history and geography of the United States fifty years ago was fortunate in that he did not have so much to learn as the school-boy of 1903. He had only to struggle with the topography and general history of thirty-one states, while the boy of this generation who graduates from the grammar school must be familiar with the statistics of forty-five states, not to mention Hawaii, Porto Rico, and the Philippine Islands.

Now, bear with me just a moment while I take you into the schoolhouse in our district and introduce you to the schoolmaster. Alas! and alas! I cannot do it in reality. The old schoolhouse has long since disappeared and no other has taken its place. In that district where fifty years ago there were thirty-five and sometimes forty scholars attending school in the winters, there are now only two of school age, and they are conveyed to a neighboring district to receive their rudimentary education. But although that old shrine has vanished, and those whose memories made it sacred have gone to their long home, nevertheless it remains in my remembrance as intact as if it existed today. In my mind's eye I see its rough unpainted

walls, its rude and scarified benches and desks. In the center of the floor stands the great square stove; at the end of the room opposite the door the master's desk with the ever present accompaniments of rod and ruler. Behind the desk sits the embodiment of stern discipline and superior knowledge, the schoolmaster. Flogging was more generally practiced in school then than now. But they tell us more is learned now. So that it is practically true that what the boy loses at one end he gains at the other. On the left as we enter are the benches for the boys, and on the right for the girls. On the front seats are the younger scholars, with no desks in front of them, dangling their feet several inches from the floor. The larger scholars attend school only during the few weeks of the winter term, when there is little doing on the farm. Wood carving was not one of the branches taught, but was, nevertheless, zealously practiced, as those old benches and desks would testify if they were still in existence. Usually in summer the school was in charge of a woman, and in the winter the schoolmaster took her place. The teacher was engaged by a prudential committee of one, who was chosen annually by the heads of the families constituting the district. It pains me to confess that the prudential committee was not always a man possessed of superior judgment as to the qualifications of a good teacher. We were sometimes taught that which it was advisable for us later on to unlearn. When the first class in reading was lined up on the floor, it came my turn to read. I was unfortunate in running up against the word "mechanism," which blocked my further progress. "Go on," said the master. "I don't know the word," I replied. "Machineism," shouted the master in a tone which implied scorn and contempt for my ignorance. That same pedagogue, on the school records spelled my brother's name H-e-n-e-r-y, which my brother insists to this day is not the correct way of spelling his name.

But let us not judge too harshly or be too hypercritical. That was before the time of the normal school and the train

ing school. If from what I have said, anyone has gained the. impression that this person was a fair representative of the schoolteacher of olden times, I beg of them to disabuse their mind of that idea. Never, in any profession, was there a class of nobler, more self-sacrificing, hard working, good-intentioned men and women than the schoolteachers of fifty years ago. That this particular one should have missed his vocation was due simply to the faulty methods of selecting teachers then in vogue. The compensation which the teachers received seemed in those days sufficient to secure the best talent. The master commanded the munificent salary of four and sometimes as high as five dollars a week. A good bright schoolmistress, capable of teaching all the branches from A, B, C up to grammar and arithmetic inclusive, would sometimes demand for her services as high as one dollar and a half a week. This, however, included board. In the parlance of those days, the teacher boarded around, remaining in each family a time proportionate to the number of scholars attending school from that family. It gives me great pleasure to testify to the success which attended the efforts of the good housewives of those days in making pleasant the lot of the teacher while under their roof. There was nothing too good for the teacher, and it was a red letter week in every family when the teacher boarded there.

The steel pen had not yet come into general use, and one of the duties which devolved upon the teacher was to sharpen or mend the goose quill pens, more especially for the younger pupils. It required considerable mechanical ability, and no little time to put twenty-five or thirty goose quills into a proper condition so that they would not scratch and distribute the ink promiscuously. The steel pen, the fountain pen and the typewriter have rendered this skill on the part of the teacher of today unnecessary, and has consigned the good old-fashioned accomplishment of mending a goose quill into innocuous desuetude.

There was a custom in vogue at that time, in country districts, of locking the master out New Year's Day. If the master left the schoolhouse, at the noon hour, on his return his entrance was barred, and the boys and girls on that afternoon enjoyed themselves in the good old-fashioned way. The wood for heating the schoolhouse was furnished, in turn, by the heads of the families of the district gratuitously. The larger boys took turns in building the fire and cutting the wood. Many of the scholars lived long distances from school, some of them as far as one mile and a half away. School hours were from nine to twelve and from one to four, and no ringing out for bad weather. Those were the days of top or long-legged boots, when we tied cords around our trousers' legs at the ankle to keep out the snow while we plodded through the deep drifts. Overcoats and underflannels had not then entered upon their mission of emasculating youthful vigor.

It was in that era of New England life when it was required of the boy to contribute something in the line of service toward the comfort and support of the family before the whole machinery of the household had to be geared to his likes and preferences.

The boy did not in those days have accorded to him as one of his inalienable rights the privilege of playing ball half of his time in order to develop his muscle. There were other methods on the farm which accomplished that result and incidentally contributed something toward the welfare of the family. I am inclined to think, however, that the hard-working farmer of those times, who had never himself enjoyed the luxury of leisure, hardly appreciated the fact that the ordinary boy does require a little recreation. If I may be pardoned, I will reproduce a short dialogue which took place between my father and myself when I was about twelve years of age. It was at the close of a day in late autumn. We had been engaged in some late harvesting, and feeling the need of a little variety of exercise, I asked my father if I might go over to

our next neighbors and play with the boys. My father, look

ing up from his weekly paper, asked:

"Have you filled the wood-box?"

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Have you got plenty of kindling?" "Yes, sir."

"Done all your chores?"

"Yes, sir."

“Well, now you had better pull off your boots, warm your feet, and run up to bed, so as to get up early in the morning."

The farmer who did not in those days own at least one yoke of oxen could hardly claim to move in the best circles. It requires no great effort to recall the time when more oxen than horses were seen on Elm street hauling loads of wood, hay or lumber. It may have escaped your memory that the house now standing on the northwest corner of Main and Milford streets in West Manchester was hauled from near Bedford Centre in the year 1839 by forty yoke of oxen. The old house was for many years a tavern under the name of "Traveler's Home." The horse has almost entirely superseded the ox, and the same Nemesis of Fate seems to be pursuing the horse in the shape of the trolley car and automobile. Wrestling and playing "goal" were the principal sports indulged in by the boys, but when the snow was in a plastic condition there were battles royal indeed.

It is surprising how a trivial incident in one's life, of no importance whatever, will impress itself on the memory so indelibly that it never becomes erased. So it happens that I remember that summer's morning in the old schoolhouse, when we little ones were gathered around the school-mistress, who in her gentle way was teaching us the sublime truths that d-o-g spelled dog, and c-a-t spelled cat, and so on to the middle of the page where was h-e-n and opposite it the picture of a good fat hen as a sort of key to the problem. "What does h-e-n spell?" asked the teacher of little Emily. Little Emily