Assuming an air of great importance as he approached his pupils, he said--"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to your notice Mr. H---, the celebrated vocalist. He has cum all the way from New York on purpose to hear you sing." The boys grinned at me and twirled their thumbs, the girls nudged one another's elbows and giggled, while their eloquent teacher continued-- "I don't know as how we shall be able to do much tonight; we upset, and that spilt my fiddle into the snow. You see,"--holding it up--"it's right full of it, and that busted the strings. A dropsical fiddle is no good, no how. Jist look at the water dripping out of her." Again the boys laughed, and the girls giggled. Said he-- "Hold on, don't laugh; it's no laughing matter, as you'll find." After a long pause, in which the youngsters tried their best to look grave, he went on-- "Now all of you, girls and boys, give your attention to my instructions this evening. I'm goin' to introduce a new style, for your special benefit, called the Pest-a-lazy (Pestalozzi) system, now all the fashion. If you are all ready, produce your books. Hold them up. One--two--three! Three books for forty pupils? That will never do! We can't sing to-night; well, never mind. You see that black board; I will give you a lesson to-night upon that. Who's got a piece of chalk?" A negative shake of the head from all. To me: "Chalk's scarce in these diggings." To the boys: "What, nobody got a piece of chalk? That's unlucky; a piece of charcoal out of the stove will do as well." "No 'ar won't," roared out a boy with a very ragged coat. "They be both the same colour." "True, Jenkins, for you; go out and get a lump of snow. Its darnation strange if I can't fix it somehow." "Now," thought I, "what is this clever fellow going to do?" The boys winked at each other, and a murmur of suppressed laughter ran through the old church. Jenkins ran out, and soon returned with a lump of snow. Mr. Browne took a small piece, and squeezing it tight, stuck it upon the board. "Now, boys, that is Do, and that is Re, and that is Do again, and that is Mi, this Do, and that Fa; and that, boys, is a part of what we call a _scale_." Then turning to a tall, thin, shabby-looking man, very much out at the elbows, whom I had not seen before, he said--"Mr. Smith, how is your _base viol?_ Hav'nt you got it tuned up yet?" Well, squire, I guess it's complete." "Hold on; let me see," and taking a tuning-fork from his pocket, and giving it a sharp thump upon the stove, he cried out in a still louder key--"Now, that's A; jist tune up to A."