movement than to raise his hand to his forehead, like a man oppressed with sorrow.

Antonio, meanwhile, as soon as he saw his father, had hurried into the house; and presently he re-appeared with a pan of milk, which, with downcast eyes, he offered to Pedro. "Away from me!" cried the captive, in a voice of thunder. Then turning to one of the soldiers, he exclaimed, "Comrade, give me to drink!" The soldier handed him his water-can, and the robber drank the water given him by the man with whom he had so recently been exchanging shots. He then requested to have his hands tied upon his breast instead of behind his back; and this being done, the officer gave the signal, bade adieu to Diego, who made no reply, and with his party hastened on their way to Santa Martha.

Ten minutes elapsed before Pacheco opened his mouth after their departure; the boy meanwhile, with an unquiet glance regarding first his mother, then his father, the latter of whom, resting on his rifle, looked on him with an expression of concentrated rage. At length, in a tone of calmness terrifying to any one who knew the man, he said, "Thou art beginning well."

"Dear father," in broken accents cried Antonio, sobbing, and rushing forward to fall upon his knees; but Diego only said, Away! behind me!" and the boy stood sobbing, motionless, some distance from his father.

66

His mother Chiquita next approached; for she had seen the watch-chain, one end of which protruded through his shirt.

"Who gave you that watch?" asked she, in a tone of unwonted severity.

"My cousin Juan, the lieutenant," sobbed out the boy; whereon his father seized the watch, and throwing it violently against a stone, broke it into a thousand pieces.

"Wife," said he, "is this boy mine?" Chiquita's dusky cheeks thereon became as red as crimson. "What mean you," cried she, "Diego!-knowest thou to whom thou 'rt speaking?" "Well," said the unhappy father; "this boy is the first of his race who has ever turned a traitor."

obeyed ;-but now it was Chiquita's turn to interfere. Running after her husband, she seized his arm. "It is thy son," she faltered, fixing her bright black eyes on those of Diego as if to read his very inmost soul;-to which, with eyes averted, he hoarsely answered: "Leave me ;-I'm his father." The hapless mother then embraced her child, and rushing in tears into the house, threw herself upon her knees before the Virgin in fervent prayer.

Meanwhile Pacheco silently proceeded some two hundred yards along the road, and then turned off into a rocky ravine, wherein by frequent trial with the butt of his rifle he picked out a soft and level spot, adapted for the purpose he had in view.

"Antonio,” said he, "go stand by yonder rock." The child did as he was bidden, and then fell on his knees.

"Now, say thy prayers."

"Oh father, father, kill me not," sobbed out the boy.

Say thy prayers," repeated Pacheco, in terrible accents ;-and the child in broken voice sobbed forth a Pater and an Ave Maria, his father firmly answering Amen to each. "Are these then all thou knowest ?"-" I know a litany,-one taught me by my aunt."-"Repeat it then quick" said Diego;—and the child repeated it in a smothered voice. "Hast finished now!" said he. 66 Oh, pardon, father;-I will never do it more. I'll get my uncle to procure poor Pedro's pardon.".

He yet was speaking, when his father cocked his gun and drew it to his shoulder, saying "Heaven pardon thee!" The child made a desperate effort to raise himself and embrace his parent's knees;but it was now too late. Pacheco fired; and in an instant Antonio fell, stone dead.

Without a glance at the body, Diego sternly pursued his way back to the house, in order to find a spade for digging the poor lad's grave; but he had only gone some dozen steps, before he met Chiquita, who came running up, alarmed at hearing the gun go off.

"What hast thou done?" cried she. "An act of justice," - sternly he replied. "Where is my boy?" shrieked she, disconsolately.

"In the ravine. I'm going now to bury him. He died as a Christian, saying his prayers. Let my son-in-law Tomaso be invited to come and live with us."

Ir behoves education to keep pace with the advance of society, and the almost daily increasing accumulation of knowledge and of the materials for it. What would for

merly have been a very respectable education, would be but a rather indifferent one now. The days of fox-hunting and portdrinking squires have passed away: even 66 country gentlemen" are expected to be upon a par with town ones, to be tolerably well informed upon matters in general, and acquainted with many matters which people had not so much as any idea of a century ago. Even a scholar must now-a-days, be something more than a scholar unless he be willing to be a recluse likewise. Our Parrs and our Porsons would now find themselves looked upon as scholastic megatheriums and nothing more.

Classical literature will always continue to be cultivated; an acquaintance with it is almost indispensable to a finished education; but its value is by no means what it once was, when a knowledge of Greek and Latin was held to constitute nearly the whole of education, and to supply the key to all other studies. Such is no longer the case: though its actual value remains pretty much the same as ever, its current one in the world has become considerably depreciated by the increased and increasing importance of other and more practical studies. People have now occasion for real information ;-that which relates not to the by-gone or the speculative, but to positive realities—to facts and things. Besides which, the greater part of the actual instruction to be derived from the classics is now rendered accessible to English readers by means of translations; and has also diffused itself through various other channels. Matters have changed greatly let others, if they like, say for the worse-since the period of the "revival of letters," when a Latin imitation of Virgil or Horace could confer poetic celebrity. Gone are the days when "Vida sang ;" gone, too, and departed for ever, the state of mind, faculties, and feelings, which could sympathize with literature of that kind.

The day for "Musa Anglicanæ," and "Etonensis," has passed away. Latin verses should keep within the school-room as their

native sphere and element. Indeed, it may be questioned whether the making Latin verses at all in schools, might not now be, with great propriety, abandoned, as little better than so much lost time, that might be far more usefully spent than in the attempt to acquire what, when acquired, cannot be turned to account, even as a mere accomplishment. There is, in fact, something akin to the ridiculous in making boys practise themselves in the mere mechanism of Latin and perhaps Greek prosody and versification, be they ever such prosaic dolts: -graceless dogs, perhaps who, so that they could but rid themselves of it, would fling their "Gradus" at their grandmother's head. Whence is their poetic inspiratin to come? Their Doctor is not a Phoebus Apollo, nor, even should they be equal to them in number, are the ushers so many "thought-sending and fancy-invigorating" muses. Supposing, too, for a moment, that a boy is intended to be a poet instead of an apothecary, hardly is he intended to practise as a Latin one, for he will have no chance of getting customers were he to open a shop in that obsolete line of business. doubt a considerable degree of cleverness may be shown in writing modern Latin poetry, but then it is all thrown away, or what amounts to the same thing, hidden under a bushel. Who now reads Vincent Bourne ?a question like to produce another from our own readers, viz., "And, pray, who is Vincent Bourne ?" Only the "Vinny Bourne," of Westminster School celebrity, and embalmed in Knox's Essays. Almost could it be wished that Cowper had never read Homer, at least had never thought of translating him, but given us, if not exactly another "Task,”—of all tasks the most delightful one, --some more of his spirited dialogues and other compositions in rhyme. But of all translators the most hopelessly and fruitlessly laborious was Joshua Barnes, for he actually translated "Paradise Lost," into Greek!—perhaps in order that the ancients might have the opportunity of becoming acquainted with our great English bard. We trust-but no, we will not pretend to apologize for indulging in a little pleasantry, notwithstanding that may be thought rather out of place :—

it

No

"What though our matter's rather dry;
That surely is no reason why
We should our readers bore and tire,
By making manner ten times drier."

There is now so much really available, and also multifarious-knowledge which it is desirable, almost necessary, - to acquire, that the time allowed for education ought to be as much as possible economized, and none needlessly wasted upon the toil of learning what, when learnt, is comparatively useless in after-life, and is not even so much as an accomplishment that can be of any service in social intercourse. The boy will not remain for ever at school, and if he is not intended to proceed to college on quitting it, or to pursue similar studies elsewhere, he will, as far as classical learning is concerned, have drudged through a dreary, cheerless road, sorely perplexed, if not scratched also, by the brambles and briars of grammar and lexicography, to very little purpose. Just as he has or ought to have surmounted difficulties of that kind, and to be able to read as well as merely construe, he has to apply himself to what is to be the main occupation of his after-life, and that perhaps, too, of a kind so uncongenial to studious habits and tastes, that supposing him to have in any degree acquired them, they have not at all prepared him for what he has thenceforth to apply to. In some few cases, adieu may be bidden to school-books and schooling with regret, but in the far greater majority, final departure from school is regarded as a joyous event kindly recollections of schooldays are connected only with school-fellows and school sports, not with books and tasks.

The business of teachers is to teach it is not for them to ask whether the kind of instruction they profess to give is likely to prove of any real service to their pupils after they have received it. But it is for parents, the only parties who can know the probable destination of their children, to adapt their education to their future prospects. Because it is possible for what is in itself a good education to be under some circumstances, a misdirected one.

It may, actual

for instance, be too refined for the station in life; therefore, as likely as not, to render him who has received it, a disappointed, and discontented man, should he not possess the talent or the energy which would enable him to raise himself into a higher grade of society than his original

one.

There certainly are a great many encouraging examples,—perhaps too seductive ones also, of lowly-born persons rising into the most conspicuous eminence, but it may fairly enough be apprehended, that they are only exceptions to the general rule. No notice is taken of the hundreds who fail where one succeeds. The city apprentice is told that he has a chance of one day or other becoming Lord Mayor of London;—the youth who is articled to an attorney, that he may look forward to the wool-sack. But as we cannot afford to have scores of Lord Mayors and Lord Chancellors, at one and the same time, the chance of becoming either is reduced to a most discouraging minimum.

Let us

Not only ought the course of his school studies to be accommodated to a boy's probable future career, but his intended career should be, as far as possible, planned in conformity with his natural ability, disposition, and inclination. We do not state this is always practicable, oftener than not, quite the contrary. Unforeseen circumstances or events may intervene to frustrate the best plans and intentions of the kind, or else the particular aptitude and inclination may not show themselves decidedly until it is too late to adopt the training which would advance the one, and agree with the other. not, however, be misunderstood: we do not mean to say that mere boyish fancies are to be given way to. Parents have an undoubted right to exercise their judgment, but they ought to do so with some regard to their child's own feelings, and his fitness for the proposed calling or profession. Unhappily, parental ambition too often overpowers what ought to be parental judgment. The wellto-do and thriving tradesman is ambitious of sending his son, be he ever so great a booby, to college, or to thrust him into some "respectable" and perhaps already overstocked profession, where, having no peculiar talent of his own to keep him afloat, he sinks down to "respectable" mediocrity, unless he has the good luck to be buoyed up by the corks of what is called "Connexion." The prac tice so frequent in Roman Catholic countries of devoting a child, almost from its very infancy, to the church or the cloister, has always appeared to us a species of unfeeling barbarity, and to be one great source of scandal in that church itself.

In his "Rhymes on Art," the late President of the Royal Academy says:—

"What graphic dunces sink to drawing masters;" and the sagacious remark applies only far too well to many other egregious and notto-be-remedied mistakes in the choice of a career or calling. How many are there who, though they now seem little better than humdrums and blockheads, might have distinguished themselves in some other character and line. We have sometimes been consulted as to the choice of a profession for a son, and cur reply has uniformly been,-if not precisely in the same effect,—there are in all professions a few great prizes, many very moderate ones, and very many blanks. If he embarks in the Church he may possibly land at Lambeth, or he may stick fast for life in a curacy. Should Physic be his fancy, he may possibly attain to the felicity of fingering a royal pulse. Should it be the Law, he may possibly one day or other feel what sort of a cushion a wool-sack makes;

or he may get a different sort of “sack” by being struck off from the list of attorneys. Poetry also holds out the tempting prize of "sack," not filled with anything so sheepish as wool, but on the contrary filling a butt; the sack that was the Fat Knight's favourite wine. In other words, he may rise, if not to the topmost heights of our English Parnassus, to the dignity of the Laureateship, and there seat himself on the same bench with a Shadwell and a Tate, a Cibber and a Pye. Yet wide is the difference between possibilities and probabilities, and it is safer to build upon the latter than on the former. Impossibilities also ought to be taken into account, and it is certainly quite impossible, whatever be their genius, that every brewer's son can become a Cromwell, or every 66 petit caporal” place an imperial diadem upon his brow.

L.