"Something gave the dying sunset
An intenser glow,
And enriched the cup of rapture
Filled to overflow!"
Or again another stanza―
"Our west horizon circular,
From time the sun be set,
Is all with rubies, as it were,
Or roses red o'erfret."
No. 54. Dutch School by De Block. Oh! ye who have taught the "young idea how to shoot," pray sympathize with the taskmaker who sits forward in his high arm chair, holding a book whose teachings are being slowly hammered into a half dozen or more rock-like craniums. The master is a man of years, and one might study arithmetic, or at least a sum of addition from the accumulated wrinkles in his face. One little culprit has been called to take his place, but his recitation is doubtless as weak as his knees, or he may be in the act of contrition "bowed down with weight of woe." Another has just passed ingloriously from the same ordeal, for his book is opened to learn his lesson over again. Two boys lean up against the desk, one of whom is grinning because he is in the rear, and his time has not yet come. Several more are on their knees clustered around the teacher's chair, which we suppose is a "stool of repentance" for their ignorance. But in the distance, and not overlooked by any means, is a poor little fellow, his bag of books, strapped to his side. His slow dragging footsteps give evidence of the hard road he has to travel, whilst he wipes his eyes, and is just about to boo hoo, wishing he had never been born. From all appearances these boys will never make sages, or they show us that the applica-
