During this time the numbers who came to the school diminished steadily. Many of the boys ceased to attend, and no new scholars appeared to take their places. But the aged school-master sat still at his post, although his eyes grew dimmer and dimmer, his hearing duller, his limbs feebler. One morning as he called the roster and marked only nine as answering to their names, he said, “Our numbers are not what they were. Nine is our smallest muster in sixty-eight years.” “Have you kept this school sixty-eight years, sir?” said one of the nine, with an air of incredulity, and making at the same time a grimace for the amusement of his eight companions. “Sixty-eight years, Amphistides, have I kept this school,” said the old man. “You must be getting on in years, sir,” said Amphistides, with mock gravity. “I am ninety-four years of age, Amphistides,” said the master; “ninety-four years of age. I have seen many and strange things.” “Yes, sir, you must have done,” said Amphistides, leering all about him; “and I suppose you will retire on your fortune on your hundredth birthday?” “If Nature has bowels, Amphistides,” said the old man, “she may spare this frame from such a term. Yet, as I say, Amphistides, my life has seen many strange things. It has run its course in the most wonderful era of which history has kept the record. It has seen steam and electricity annihilate time and space. It has seen bombshells and anæsthetics, and devices of a most wonderful character arrive upon the earth. It has seen new forces dragged out of the bosom of nature. It has seen time forced to yield his dread secrets. It has witnessed the overthrow of many creeds. It has witnessed the mind of man pass through many phases. New dynasties has it seen arise; new planets has it seen appear in the heavens. It has seen death robbed of its terrors, and birth bereaved of its sanctity. It has been taught to read the past like an open page. And now, Amphistides, it only remains to commit these limbs to the quiet earth.” The latter part of this queer utterance could scarcely be heard, for the thin, piping tones of the aged school-master were drowned by the boys exclaiming to one another, “What an old babbler he is! He is like a baby without its nurse.” From this time even the slender number of boys that remained began to grow less. And at last came the day when there was only one boy left in the school. He was the boy who had sat continually at the master’s table. And one day, as he sat transcribing a favourite passage out of the ancient authors, two rough and coarse-looking men entered the room rudely and noisily. Without ceremony they began to strip the walls and to uproot the desks, which were clamped by pieces of iron to the floor. Having removed these, they took away the chairs and tables, and other pieces of furniture. Then they came to demand the table at which the boy and the aged master were seated side by side.