But the system worked well; every thing was learned from the very beginning, and learned thoroughly, with trouble to the pupil and with trouble to the teacher also. She was determined that the brain should work understandingly; and when I was puzzling over a difficult miscellaneous example, would say," My dear, it would be very easy for me to show you how to do it, but it will do you more good to find it out for yourself; you will not have me with you through life to explain every thing." And this is just what teachers should understand-but which teachers do not understand-that the aim and object of education is to make their pupils think and reason for themselves, so that their minds shall be intelligently alive to receive and grasp the knowledge placed within their reach. My good and wise instructress is now dead. She passed away before I could fully appreciate her labours, or tell her how much I valued them; but up to the time of her death I visited her with feelings of respect and affection; and though it is a saying that no boy ever loved the man who taught him the Latin grammar," I can truly say that it is more than possible for the girl to love the woman who not only taught her the Latin grammar, but who thoroughly instructed her in decimals.

And, in a like spirit, I would say to teachers generally, the more thoroughly and conscientiously you teach, the more will your pupils respect you; and you will lay the foundation of a love, a reverence, a gratitude that will never die out in after years.

I am glad to have the opportunity of paying this tribute to the memory of one whose patience, whose ability, whose conscientiousness, whose strict integrity of principle have been so valuable in their effects upon my education. For though I have now forgotten the decimals, and the Latin grammar has become so incorporated with other knowledge that it has no distinct existence, shall I therefore say, that the acquisition of these things was useless, because I never became a mathematician nor a writer of Latin verses; because, through bending my energies in other directions, these studies have been of no direct use to me? I answer, no. Knowledge that is laboriously acquired is never useless. If it is never brought to bear upon a definite object, it has so cultivated the mind that, to twist for an illustration the poet's words, "its waters returning back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment."

THE LEGEND OF SIR HENRY DE ARUNDEL.

SIR HENRY DE ARUNDEL's brow is dark,
Dark as the wave of the wintry sea;
And sadness lurks in his brooding eye
Where ever a smile was wont to be.

And when he speaketh his words are few,
As the words that a dying man may gasp;
And when he taketh a friendly hand

The warmth of old it doth fail his grasp.

Why doth this coldness sit at his heart?
Why doth this sorrow lurk in his eye?
Men say he hath talked with the weird woman,
And thus hath she read him his destiny:-

"There is a vault of good grey stone,

And over it tombs of carving rare;
Or ever a year and a day be gone,

Henry de Arundel slumbereth there.

"Yet falleth he not in bower and hall,

Or under the shade of the good green tree;
His bier shall be spread on the dark sea weed
By the shifting sands of the western sea."
Thus to the knight spake that weird woman,
When as in Efford's halls he lay :
"Oh! God forfend," Sir Henry he said,
"That ever should fall so foul a day.

"Blithely my soul would I breathe away

In the battle shock to the shouts of the brave

But bitter it is a nameless corpse

To be toss'd on the swell of the heaving wave.

"Oh! Efford's bowers are stately and strong,
Fast by the shore of the western sea;

But broader the lands of fair Trerice
By many a mile of lawn and lea.

"Rise up, rise
up, my little foot page
That kneelest lowly at my side,
And we will away to fair Trerice

Before the close of even-tide.

"And bravely there will we chase the hart,
And bravely our falcons there we'll fly,
Far from the moan of the salt sea tide
And the evil glance of a witch's eye.

""Twas there that my first faint breath I drew,
'Twas there that my heart to throb began,
And there, by our Lady's grace, will I die
For all the word of a false woman."

"Oh! many a true, true tale, Sir Knight,
With dole and painfulness is blent;
But curse me not for a false woman,
Or ever a year and a day be spent."

They hunted East, they hunted West,

For many a blitheful summer's morn; They struck full many a stately hern

When March winds whistled through the thorn.

And aye as the sweet spring leaves grew long,
And the year and a day was well nigh gone,

The fire of Sir Henry's eye grew bright,

And the wonted smile on his cheek it shone.

"To horse, Sir Henry of Arundel!

As thou art sheriff in Cornish land;
Hearken the tidings that I shall tell;
And to horse and away with all thy band.

NEW?

"Earl Richard of Oxenford, crafty and bold,
Who got him away from Barnet fight,
Has won him by stealth St. Michael's hold,
Yestreen at the hour of dim twilight.

"Firm foot in the stirrup, stout lance at rest,
Mount, mount and away to the western main;
The knight shall in story and song be blest,
Who winneth St. Michael's Mount again."

A gloom hath come on Sir Henry's soul,
A cloud on his brow so broad and clear;
He standeth as one that heareth not,

Or a tale of doubtful faith doth hear.

But lightly again the cloud swept o'er,

And his brow was clear, and his glance was high; "Now cometh my doom in a noble guise;

A true and a stainless knight I die.

"And blest be our God, all-merciful,
Who turneth to day the weariest night:
Now shall not a nameless end be mine,
But the death of the brave in stricken fight.

"To horse! to horse! my merry men all!

One stroke for the cause of the fair white rose;

And, whether by sea or by land I fall,

Mine eyes in an honour'd sleep I close."

There rode forth a goodly company

At peep of day to the trumpet's blare:

But a weary and sorrowful few came home,

And their trumpets wailed to the midnight air.

Weary and sad from the western shore

Their plumes are dank with the salt sea-spray;

A sad and a weary load they bore,

Sir Henry of Arundel's lifeless clay.

The night is gone-and the fateful year

Passed with the fading stars in the west.
In the cold grey vault, on a spray-wash'd bier,
Calmly the bones of Sir Henry rest.

E. BOGER.

HELIO-TYPE, OR PHOTOCHEMIC PRINTING.

UNEXPECTED features occur in the course of application of every new invention. Sometimes they present themselves as serious or even fatal stumbling-blocks; at other times they add a new value to the original discovery. Thus, the rapid and unexpected absorption of heat by the rarefied air proved fatal to the ingenious mechanism of the atmospheric railways. Thus, on the other hand, the power unexpectedly derived from the blast of the escaped steam raised the velocity of the locomotive to four times that anticipated by George Stephenson. In each of these, as in many other, instances, an unforeseen incident decided the fate of the invention.

When the chemical change effected by certain rays of the spectrum on the salts of silver was first rendered available for the purposes of art, by the use of the camera, the new process was not long in assuming a special development. Faint metallic shadows, resembling, to some extent, reflections on water, were produced on silvered plates by Daguerre. The efforts of Mr. Fox-Talbot and other students of the chemistry of light were then directed to the production of sun pictures, which should, as closely as possible, resemble mezzotint, or line engraving. As experience increased, however, it turned out that the clear and soft tones, graduating with infinite delicacy, which were given by the partial reduction of metal on albumenized paper, recommended themselves to public taste. Photographers then sought no longer to produce work that should counterfeit engraving, but vied with each other in the delicacy or the force of their own shadowy craft. Even the brown gloss, or other metallic tint, was prized as a beauty, instead of being avoided as a novel peculiarity. There can be no doubt that in many cases, especially in the silver photographs executed at Berlin, and in those taken in this country by Signor Morelli, extreme delicacy and beauty is attained. For prints mounted on card, and kept in portfolios, the only objection to these reproductions is their tendency to fade. This may, indeed, according to the skill of the manipulator, and the expense to which he goes in the use of gold, as well as in the expenditure of time in working up each individual