After Mr. Smith had succeeded in tuning his instrument, the teacher proceeded with his lucid explanations:--"Now, boys, start fair; give a grand chord. What sort of a noise do you call that? (giving a luckless boy a thump over the head with his fiddle-stick). You bray through your nose like a jackass. I tell you to quit; I don't want discord." The boy slunk out of the class, and stood blubbering behind the door. "Tune up again, young shavers! Sing the notes as I have made them on the board,--Do, re-do, mi, do-fa. Now, when I count four commence. One--two--three--four. Sing! Hold on!--hold on! Don't you see that all the notes are running off, and you can't sing running notes yet." Here he was interrupted by the noise of some one forcing their way into the church, in a very strange and unceremonious manner, and "The chorister's song, that late was so strong, Grew a quaver of consternation." The door burst open, and a ghastly head was protruded through the aperture. "A ghost!--a ghost!" shrieked out all the children in a breath; and jumping over the forms, they huddled around the stove, upsetting the solitary tallow candle, the desk, and the bass viol, in their flight. One lad sprang right upon the unfortunate instrument, which broke to pieces with a terrible crash. We were now left in the dark. The girls screamed, and clung round me for protection, while the ghastly apparition continued to stare upon us through the gloom, with its large, hollow eyes, I must confess that I felt rather queer; but I wisely kept my fears to myself, while I got as far from the door as I possibly could. Just as our terror had reached a climax, the grizzly phantom uttered a low, whining neigh.