A scholar by the name of Tom Belton, who wore linsey gray, made a dam across a little brook by the school, and whittled out a saw-mill that actually sawed; he had genius. I expected to see him before now at the head of American mechanics; but I learn with pain that he is keeping a grocery store. At the close of all the terms we had exhibitions, to which all the townspeople came, and among them the black-eyed Jane, and the pretty Sophia with fur around her hat. My great triumph was when I had the part of one of Pizarro’s chieftains, the evening before I left the school. How I did look! I had a mustache put on with burned cork, and whiskers very bushy indeed; and I had the militia coat of an ensign in the town company, with the skirts pinned up, and a short sword very dull, and crooked, which belonged to an old gentleman who was said to have got it from some privateer, who was said to have taken it from some great British admiral in the old wars; and the way I carried that sword upon the platform and the way I jerked it out when it came to my turn to say—“Battle! battle! then death to the armed, and chains for the defenseless!”—was tremendous! The morning after, in our dramatic hats—black felt, with turkey feathers—we took our place upon the top of the coach to leave the school. The head master, in green spectacles, came out to shake hands with us—a very awful shaking of hands. Poor gentleman!—he is in his grave now. We gave three loud hurrahs “for the old school,” as the coach started; and upon the top of the hill that overlooks the village, we gave another round—and still another for the crabbed old fellow whose apples we had so often stolen. I wonder if old Bulkeley is living yet? As we got on under the pine trees, I recalled the image of the black-eyed Jane, and of the other little girl in the corner pew—and thought how I would come back after the college days were over—a man, with a beaver hat, and a cane, and with a splendid barouche, and how I would take the best chamber at the inn, and astonish the old schoolmaster by giving him a familiar tap on the shoulder; and how I would be the admiration, and the wonder of the pretty girl in the fur-trimmed hat! Alas, how our thoughts outrun our deeds! For long—long years, I saw no more of my old school; and when at length the view came, great changes—crashing tornadoes—had swept over my path! I thought no more of startling the villagers, or astonishing the black-eyed girl. No, no! I was content to slip quietly through the little town, with only a tear or two, as I recalled the dead ones, and mused upon the emptiness of life! [Illustration] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Illustration] THE SEA