STORIES OF SCHOOLBOYS.

I.

GOLD MAY BE BOUGHT TOO DEAR.

"BOTHER the Latin!" exclaimed George, throwing from him his book in a pet; "I cannot learn it, and I won't. I wish-"

"And I wish," said one of his schoolfellows, interrupting him, "that you would mind what you are about, George; you very nearly knocked the inkstand over with your book; and if you had spilled the ink on my exercise, I wonder who would have written it again?" "George bothers the Latin, he says," remarked a demure boy at the opposite side of the desk; "now I think it is the Latin that bothers him."

The boys laughed, and George laughed too; and with that laugh his momentary irritation subsided. He put out his hand for the offending book, and-though with no great liking for the task-made another attempt at its translation.

This was an evening scene. The following morning presented the usual appearance of George at the bottom of the class, or very near it; his written translation blotted with many marks, and himself listening with impatience to the rebukes of his patient teacher.

"It will never do, George; this extreme carelessness of yours: this want of application, if not overcome, will be a plague and a drawback-yes, and a disgrace to you all the days of your life. Go to your desk, sir, and correct these egregious blunders; a mere tyro would be ashamed of them."

George looked ashamed, not of his carelessness, perhaps, but of being lectured, as he afterwards said; and obeyed.

A few hours afterwards, George and his (at that time) favourite companion were walking round and round the playground, over which their schoolfellows were scattered. The two boys were gravely talking.

Well, if I were you—”

"You would be just what I am, and do just what I do."

"If I were in your place then, George, I. would pay more attention. What is the use of your being such an idle fellow as you say are? These are your words and not mine, you you know. I declare I was ashamed for you to-day, and so I am every day. Do exert you will."

yourself; you can if

"I tell you, Reginald," replied George, with some appearance of vexation, "that I am naturally so idle, nothing can rouse me; and besides, if I could exert myself, as you wisely counsel me, what would be the good of it?"

"The good of it! why, for one thing, you would avoid the disgrace.'

"Not worth the trouble, Reginald-decidedly not."

"And for another thing," continued the wiser boy, "you would be fitter, by and by,

to-to

"To do my duty in that state of life,' and so forth, as we say every Sunday, I suppose you mean," interposed George.

"Just so; at least it is near enough to what I was going to say," replied Reginald.

"Ah," said the other, "this is all very fine; but how is all this stuff-Latin now, for instance—to make me fitter, as you say—you won't find such a word in Murray, though, I fancy; but fitter let it be, if you like to do my duty, and so on?"

"Mr. Weston says"

"Yes, yes, I know what Mr. Weston says about Latin, and so you need not trouble yourself to repeat it. It may be all very well for him; but look here: when I leave school, (and the time is not far off, I hope,) of what use will Latin and mathematics, and more than half of the other stupid things we are

bored with here-I say, of what use will they be to me?"

"You don't know yet, George."

"Yes I do: they will be of no use.

I am

to live with my rich old uncle, who cares as much about Latin as one of his horses, and not much more. My time will be taken up in riding about the farm with him, or without him, looking after his men, and things of that sort. And after a time, when the dear old uncle is gone-not that I shall wish him dead; but he is old, and cannot live long-then the farm is to come to me, with plenty of money into the bargain, and I shall settle down into a country gentleman; my mother and sister will live with me, and won't I be happy then? But as to the Latin and all this school nonsense, it really won't be of any use, Reginald, and it is not worth the trouble of cramming my head with it. I wonder my mother should wish me to become classical, as she says. Only fancy the idea of a classical farmer! If I had to work my way in some profession or other, that would be a different thing, eh?"

Reginald did not carry on the argument which he had introduced. He was but a boy, though a thoughtful one; and he did not know how to reply to his friend's long vindication of himself except by saying

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I think, George, if your mother wishes it, that ought to be enough."