tall larch-tree, and perched himself triumphantly among its topmost branches. The dominie, who was not deficient in pluck when upholding the prerogative of the tag, immediately made the attempt to follow him; but finding the branches rather too slight to bear his weight, he was glad to slide down again, after having successfully climbed the stem. Having in vain commanded Sandy to come down, the dominie held a council of war with himself for a few minutes, and suddenly resolved upon his strategy. One of the boys was despatched to a neighbouring farm-house for an axe. When it was brought, the dominie set to work at the root of the tree, and, when he had given it two or three strokes, called out once more to Sandy—“Will you come down, sir?” Sandy looked cautiously over from his nest among the branches to see what probability there was of the dominie’s being able to fell the tree, and, apparently, coming to the conclusion that he couldn’t do it, contemptuously answered—“Na, I winna come doon.” Once more the dominie laid the axe at the root of Sandy’s citadel, and though he made little progress in cutting it, the tree shook at every stroke, until Sandy, becoming rather uncomfortable, consented to come down. He had no sooner reached the ground, than he was collared and marched off to the school in triumph, and was duly whipped by extreme process. Our parents rarely interfered to protect us from the tag, when it was administered in moderation; though occasionally some noise was made when a boy was sent home utterly incapacitated from occupying a sitting position. The miller’s wife—a strong-minded dame of the “rampaging” order—so far from being maternally indignant when her son, Johnny, was sent home in a state of pulp, would occasionally call in to enjoin the dominie not to spare him. This lady was a chief actor in one of our most memorable “scenes.” Her son Johnny had “fugied” for several days running, and had been found out and duly whipped by the maternal order. Some time after this the good lady found Johnny hiding in the mill, about the middle of the day, when he ought to have been at school. I remember well what came of that discovery. Late one afternoon we were startled from our studies by a noise of wheels, the clattering of some iron instrument, and the accents of a shrill, angry voice. The master immediately ran out to see what was the matter, and we, the pupils, took the opportunity to rush to the windows. It was the miller’s wife, who had arrived with her son Johnny in a cart, keeping guard over him with the kitchen tongs. The next minute Johnny was driven into the schoolroom by his infuriate parent, who banged him with the tongs as he ran. I shall never forget the scene that ensued. “Now have your wull o’ him,” said the Spartan parent to the dominie. The dominie thus licensed, got out the tag; but Johnny no sooner caught sight of that instrument than he was nerved to the most desperate resistance.