"I guess I ain't much of a reader," he remarked, dryly. "Stop, sir!" said the master. Poor Nathaniel! Once, in attempting to read a Bible story, he read, "And he smote the Hittite that he died"--"And he smote him Hi-ti-ti-ty, that he _did_" with great emphasis and brief self-congratulation. In wonderful contrast to Nathaniel's efforts was the reading in concert by the whole class. Here was shown fine preparation for a forest school. The reading of verses, in which "sound corresponded to the signification," was smoothly, musically, and admirably done, and we give some of these curious exercises here: _Felling trees in a wood._ Loud sounds the axe, redoubling strokes on strokes; On all sides round the forest hurls her oaks Headlong. Deep echoing groan the thickets brown, Then rustling, crackling, crashing, thunder down. _Sounds of a bow-string._ The string let fly Twanged short and sharp, like the shrill swallow's cry. _The pheasant._ See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings. _Scylla and Charybdis._ Dire Scylla there a scene of horror forms, And here Charybdis fills the deep with storms. When the tide rushes from her rumbling caves, The rough rock roars; tumultuous boil the waves. _Boisterous and gentle sounds._ Two craggy rocks projecting to the main, The roaring winds' tempestuous rage restrain: Within, the waves in softer murmurs glide, And ships secure without their hawsers ride. _Laborious and impetuous motion._ With many a weary step, and many a groan, Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone: The huge round stone resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground. _Regular and slow movement._ First march the heavy mules securely slow; O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go. _Motion slow and difficult._ A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. _A rock torn from the brow of a mountain._ Still gath'ring force, it smokes, and urged amain, Whirls, leaps, and thunders down impetuous to the plain. _Extent and violence of the waves._ The waves behind impel the waves before, Wide-rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore. _Pensive numbers._ In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav'nly pensive contemplation dwells, And ever-musing melancholy reigns. _Battle._ Arms on armor clashing brayed Horrible discord; and the madding wheels Of brazen fury raged. _Sound imitating reluctance._ For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned; Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?