refects issued a mandate, that the junior part of
the fifth class should share with the fourth in the duty of going on hall:
this was for some time submitted to; but at length one of the boys of
this class intentionally abstained from seating himself on the cross
bench at supper-time, and being seen by the senior prefect, and desired
by him to go on hall, refused to do so, and argued the point as a matter
of right, alleging, as the ancient usage of the school, the exemption of
the junior part of the fifth class from this duty till the commencement
of fires; he referred to the course keeper as being the depositary of
the rules, and expressed himself prepared to abide by his decision. The
course keeper, who does not appear to have been very well versed in the
usages of the school, decided that the boy ought to go on hall; and the
prefect therefore resolved, not only to enforce this new rule, but
to punish the contumely of this unlucky boy by giving him a public
chastisement. To this, however, the junior did not feel inclined to
submit, and a second prefect laid hold of him, that he might not evade
the beating destined for him: a simultaneous movement then took place
amongst the juniors, who pinioned the two prefects, released the boy
who was being beaten, and gave them to understand that the intended
chastisement should not be inflicted. The prefects instantly laid a
complaint before the head master, who expelled the boy who had refused to
go on hall, and five others, who had appeared most active in preventing
the prefect from punishing him.

* * * * *

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM.

As sweeps the bark before the breeze,
While waters coldly close around,
Till of her pathway through the seas
The track no more is found;
Thus passing down Oblivion's tide,
The beauteous visions of the mind
Fleet as that ocean pageant glide,
And leave no trace behind.

But the pure page may still impart
Some dream of feeling, else untold,--
The silent record of a heart,
E'en when that heart is cold.
Its lorn memorials here may bloom,--
Perchance to gentle bosoms dear,
Like flowers that linger o'er the tomb
Bedewed with Beauty's tear.

I ask not for the meed of fame.
The wreath above my rest to twine,--
Enough for me to leave my name
Within this hallow'd shrine;
To think that o'er these lines thine eye
May wander in some future year,