Such was the state of things--such the condition of the school, where I received my education, the only education that I ever enjoyed, except such as I have since found in study by myself, and amid the active pursuits of life. But let me not blame the schoolhouse alone; I was myself in fault, for even the poor advantages afforded me there, I wilfully neglected; partly because I was fond of amusing myself and impatient of application; partly because I thought myself worth ten thousand dollars, and fancied that I was above the necessity of instruction; and partly because my uncle and his bar-room friends were always sneering at men of education, and praising men of spirit and action--those who could drive a stage skilfully, or beat in pitching cents, or bear off the palm in a wrestling-match, or perchance carry the largest quantity of liquor under the waistcoat. Such being the course of circumstances that surrounded me at the age of fifteen, it will not be surprising if my story should at last lead to some painful facts; but my succeeding chapters will show. (_To be continued._) The Artists’ Cruise. About the first of August, 1840, an excursion was set on foot, by five young men of Boston, for recreation and amusement--one full of interest and excitement, conducive equally to health and pleasure. The plan was this--to embark in a small pleasure-boat called the _Phantom_, built and owned by one of the company, who was also well skilled in nautical affairs, and proceed by easy distances along the coast as far “down East” as time or inclination would admit--letting the events and adventures of the day determine the movements of the next.