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They were very much worn, and the lower you went
It surprised you the more to find rent after rent;
Such breeches as these I think never were cured,
Though double-back-actioned, copy-righted, insured.

But my mother, poor soul, having nothing to match,
Just pieced up the-back with a red flannel patch;
One knee she darned over and finished with yellow,
And taking white cambric she mended its fellow;
The bottoms were finished with bombazine braid,
Which hid for a time where the breeches were frayed.
But after all this there must be something wrong,
For they hung by the measure just six inches long.

So I cut very neatly two holes in the pockets,

And my arms they shot through like a couple of rockets,
And this you will see at a glance was the best

I could do, as it made me both pants and a vest.
So now if you have any old clothes to mend,
Remember 'tis never too late in the end;

Don't throw them away, nor don't give them away,
To the stranger that begs at your gate every day.

A DAY IN A STAGE-COACH.

BY R. U. S.

Living as we do in an age of railroads and steamboats traveling by stage has almost entirely been done away with, but the American tourist in his anxiety to spend his short vacation in midsummer in the most rustic manner will undergo almost endless inconveniences. One of these is riding in a stage-coach. In order to reach the White Mountains and view the grand sights there presented, of which the Granite State may well be proud, many miles have to be traveled in stages over roads by no means the best. From the Profile House, in the Franconia Mountains, one of the ranges of the White Mountains, to the Crawford House, in the White Mountains proper, the distance is twenty-seven miles.

About the middle of last July I had the pleasure of traveling this distance in a stage. I should say on a stage, and would add, for the benefit of any who may purpose visiting the White Mountains sooner or later, that they should always ride outside while there is any room, be you lady or gentleman-get outside if possible.

We were hurried up and hastily partook of a very poor breakfast, which we did not relish at all, but immediately after it we took our station on the long piazza of the hotel from which the stages would start, eager to secure an outside seat. As soon as our stage drove up I clambered up and secured my seat, not knowing how many were going, as a number of stages left about the same time. In a short time the inside of the stage was well-nigh full of elderly persons; but, alas! they were nearly all disappointed, for all but one of them were in the wrong stage, the one they wanted to take having left a few minutes before. However, they bore the disappointment bravely, and soon vacated their seats, when we found that our load consisted of a middle-aged gentleman from New York City, who was seated by my side, and with whom I soon became well acquainted; a young gentleman and wife also from New York City, who were seated by the driver; and an elderly lady from Pennsylvania, the only passenger inside the stage; in all five passengers, two trunks, and the driver,-quite a small load for six horses.

About eight o'clock our driver drew up his reins, cracked his long-lashed whip, and the horses started off on a run; but we had not gone far till we found our load was entirely too light to ride easy, and owing to the recent heavy rains the roads were very much washed, so we were destined to have a good shaking. Unfortunately our driver was not at all communicative, something very unusual. Still, by considerable catechising, we managed to learn the principal points of interest along our route. We accomplished the first six miles of our journey in about an hour, but most of it was down grade and our horses were fresh. But the ride out of Franconia Notch was inspiring. It seemed to lift us out of self, to cause us to forget we were seated on the top of a stage, and almost wish to linger amid the glories of the coming day; but we are hurried along. About twelve miles from the Profile House we stop for a few minutes at the beautiful little town of Bethlehem. It is situated on an eminence from which the country northward can be seen for many miles. At this place we change horses, and

start on afresh; but we are met with a disappointment. We hoped when we would get a fresh team to make better progress, and, lo! one of the new horses was miserably lame, so we could not go very fast at best. We next stopped at the Twin Mountain House, long enough for the gentleman and wife to get a lunch, who, I should say, were extremely devoted to each other. Perhaps it would be worthy of mention here that it was at this house that the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher spent the summer of 1871, and they are sure to remind every passenger that such is the case. As we leave the Twin Mountain House we see Mt. Washington, with its lofty barren top, towering far above us, apparently very near, yet nine miles off. The first good view we have of it fills us with awe and makes us eager to ascend it by that winding line up its side which we know to be the railroad, but we cannot reach it now. We are within four and a-half miles of it, at the Old Fabyan Path, but can get no nearer to-day, in fact we would not wish to, for about that time a heavy shower came up, so we readily abandoned our outside station and sought protection from the rain in the inside of the stage, and when we did get there we could not pay any attention to mountains around us, for our driver, regardless of the poor lame horse, the many ruts and breakers in the road, and least of all the luggage inside the stage, urged on his horses at the top of their speed, bent upon reaching the Crawford House at the earliest possible moment. It was amusing to see how we would be pitched and thrown about from one side of the stage to the other, at the same time using our utmost endeavor with hands and feet to keep our seats. A few minutes before two o'clock our driver stopped at the piazza of the Crawford House, and without much ceremony we vacated our seats, feeling thankful that there were no bones broken from our last half hour's ride.

I would say in conclusion that although riding in the stage has some inconvenience about it, it is one of the pleasantest ways of travelling. The party cannot be large and they are always congenial. At least I have found it so: Persons in stages are not long strangers, and with such a spirit as this pervading a party, their travels cannot but be pleasant. True, a stage moves slowly, but when you take one you are supposed not to be in a hurry, but bent upon pleasure, and if you do your part I feel sure that you will feel as I did, that of your many pleasant days one of them was the day you spent in a stage.

CRAMMING IN COLLEGE.

BY S. O. B.

In comparing the relative merits of two colleges, we often hear it stated that more study is required in the one than in the other. Therefrom they draw the inference that it is the better college, the one that will send forth the better educated men. While it is not intended in this article to thoroughly discuss this subject, permission is asked to question the correctness of this inference, and to throw out a few hints on cramming in college, applicable more especially to the last two years of the course. By cramming is meant the compelling a student to prepare and recite a great amount of text, to the exclusion of original thought on the subject, and to the prevention of what may be called outside work, such as pertains to literary societies, contributions to college periodicals, etc.

It is assumed that the chief object of a course in college is, not the accumulation of facts, but the training and developing of mind, the forming of profound thinkers and accurate reasoners. In a word, the object is comprehended in .he etymological signification of the term education, to draw out. It is true some students enter college with the impression seemingly that they have an empty place somewhere in the head, which they intend to fill in the four years here and to draw from during the remainder of their lives. However, the prevailing opinion among educated men as to the object of a college training, I believe, is that given above. It becomes, then, a question of importance and interest, which college best accomplishes this end, the one in which cramming is the rule, or the one that gives more time for thought and what has been called outside work. Practice makes perfect, is an old and good maxim, and one that holds in thinking as well as elsewhere; but let us see what practice can be had under the course pursued by many instructors.

A student sits down to prepare a lesson, say in Psychology, for recitation. He reads over a paragraph of the text, His active, penetrating mind detects some inconsistency in the author's reasoning that he would like to investigate and follow out to the truth. Some expression, perhaps, starts a train of important thought, or he would like to find familiar illustrations of his state

ments.

ProfesThe pleasure,

Yet this is de

That the wise following out of these promptings of the mind is conducive to sound development is not denied. sors recommend and urge it upon their students. also, that a live student derives therefrom is great. nied him. He has several pages to prepare in a prescribed time. He must push on to the next paragraph, and so he goes over the allotted task (for task that has become which might otherwise have been a pleasure) memorizing merely the thoughts of the author. These he rehashes in the class-room and gets the credit of a good recitation. Most certainly he deserves it after all his plodding; but something more important arises here. Does he receive the

benefit that he would have received if he had gone over less ground, following out the promptings of his mind? That such a course gives too little time for thought is evident; while the putting of this thought on paper, which Bacon says makes an exact man, is almost impossible. They may be mistaken, nevertheless there are many students who feel that it would be an advantage to them to pursue a course like the one indicated.

There are many obstacles in the way of such a course. The greatest is that. enough is laid down in a curriculum of four years for a much longer period; and none of it, apparently, can be omitted. Many, also, will object that students would not improve the time even if it were given them, pointing, in proof of their assertion, to the large number of students who spend what spare time they have in idleness or worse. Such remind me of the Professor who was continually assigning increased lessons because he always saw some members of the class idle during part of the time allotted to preparation. The result was, those whom he wished to reach continued to enjoy their spare time by calling in the aid of "ponies," while those who doubted the benefit of their use were worked too hard by his vain attempt to make all work. That many of them would only waste the extra time were it given them is not denied. Is this, however, a good objection? Higher classmen, who do not wish to improve, will find some way to evade it, cram them ever so hard; and because of them other minds should not be dwarfed. I take it that one profound original thinker is of more benefit to the world than a score of rehashers of others' thoughts. If less cramming would make more of that kind of thinkers, let us have less cramming. Perhaps, however,

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