at all, you waste the question; for it may not be that individual specimen, and yet you have made no progress. There are thousands, perhaps millions such, any of which it may be; and if you even were allowed to go through them all, one by one, you are still at fault, and in a wrong category of things.

First, then, we will suppose Mr. A. to inquire whether the thing be immaterial. The answer to this is absolutely certain to disencumber him at once of millions and millions of objects, and to reduce proportionately the field of his search. The answer in the present case happens to be "No," since the nose on his face is incontestably material. Getting this answer, he reflects what are the widest classifications of material objects, and he remembers that they are all divided into the animate and inanimate. He, therefore, asks next, "Is it inanimate ?" Answer No. 2, "No." It is a material and an animate object. Again he thinks what are the widest classes of the material animate world, and he remembers that it is all either human or brute. He asks, "Does it belong to the brute order?" Answer No. 3, "No." "Is it male?" Answer No. 4, "Yes."

Here the guesser naturally imagines it is either a corporate body, such as a nation, or a society, or else a man. He asks, "Is the name of it a noun plural ?" Answer No. 5, “No.” He concludes it is an individual man. "Is it dead?" Answer No. 6, "No."

His next question produces a burst of laughter, if the object to be discovered is known to the rest of the company, which burst of laughter is of immense service to the questioner; for which reason better, as we have said, that the object should not be thus known to any save the one person who has framed and written down the "puzzler."

Our friend demands, with a severe and meditative frown, "Is he a public character, (a general chorus of merriment,) or is he in private life?" Renewed laughter.)

tioner is a public character, still whoever heard of a public nose? Here the questioner, who has attentively watched these appearances of hesitation and bewilderment, remarks that what he meant to ask is, "Whether the individual may or may not, in common parlance, be said to belong to public life?" Fresh hesitation, and a renewed but low burst of little laughs all round the circle, like the small spitting fire that runs along a train of gunpowder. "The individual!" What can they say to the query? Can they say "he?" After much hesitation they perhaps pronounce the question impossible to answer in that shape, but still insist upon his counting it as his seventh. Very well; but in that case he equally insists upon some answer, and this is manifestly fair. Finally, they tell him that "he may call it public, if he pleases." "It!" That pronoun startles him, upsets all his foregone conclusions, and lands him, for the moment, in thick darkness.

Then it is not a man; but yet he has been informed that the name of it is a noun singular; consequently it is not a corporate body, and further, it is material, animate, human, and male. Still it is not an individual. What else besides an individual man can be material, animate, human, singular, and masculine? He is lost in his reflections; a long silence on his part ensues; the rest begin to talk about other matters; not only his reasoning powers, but his faculty of concentration also, are considerably taxed, to save himself from being diverted or distracted from the trail, now grown so faint, which must guide him to a solution. From time to time he is good-naturedly assured that "he will never guess it ;" and his adversary probably invites him to give it up at once, own himself vanquished, and hear the true answer thundered in his ears.

No, he won't. Often, at such a stage of the game as this, our friend is forced to get up, take his hat, and pursue his meditations somewhere else, beyond reach of disturbance. We omit what may be called the illegitimate or accidental helps toward a discovery, such as the fixed glances at the object, if within sight, or the studious avoidance of even a glance in that direction, etc.

He is gone.

THE BOY'S FIRST NIGHT AT A

WE

BOARDING-SCHOOL.

E have school-boys among our readers; some, it may be, who, far from home, have been introduced to strange sights and scenes, and new acquaintances. By them, and not by them only, but by grown-up men, will the little narrative which follows-a mere episode in a schoolboy's life-be read, not with interest merely, but with profit. The scene is laid in England, at Rugby School, memorable forever as the scene of the labors and the successes of that peerless teacher, Arnold. The boys were all gathered together as the studies and the sports of the day were over, and as they turned to leave the room, the matron touched Tom's arm, and said, "Master Brown, please stop a minute; I want to speak to you."

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'Very well, Mary. I'll come in a minute. East, don't finish the pickles—”

"O, Master Brown," went on the little matron, when the rest had gone, "you're to have Gray's study, Mrs. Arnold says. And she wants you to take in this young gentleman. He's a new boy, and thirteen years old, though he don't look it. He's very delicate, and has never been from home before. And I told Mrs. Arnold I thought you'd be kind to him, and see that they don't bully him at first. He's put into your form, and I've given him the bed next to yours in Number 4; so East can't sleep there this half.”

Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had got the double study which he coveted, but here were conditions attached which greatly moderated his joy. He looked across the room, and in the far corner of the sofa was aware of a slight pale boy, with large blue eyes and light fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the floor. He saw at a glance that the little stranger was just the boy whose first half-year at a public school would be misery to himself if he were let alone, or constant anxiety to any one who meant to see him through his troubles. Tom was too honest to take in the youngster and then let him shift for himself; and if he took him as his chum instead of East, where were all his pet plans of having a bottled-beer cellar under his window, and making night-lines and slings, and plotting expeditions to Browns-over Mills and Caldecott's Spinney? East and

he had make up their minds to get this study, and then every night from lockingup till ten they would be together, to talk about fishing, drink bottled beer, read Marryatt's novels, and sort birds' eggs. And this new boy would most likely never go out of the close, and would be afraid of wet feet, and always getting laughed at, and called Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine nickname.

The matron watched him for a moment, and saw what was passing in his mind, and so, like a wise negotiator, threw in an appeal to his warm heart. "Poor little fellow," said she, in almost a whisper, "his father's dead, and he's got no brothers. And his mamma, such a kind, sweet lady, almost broke her heart at leaving him this morning; and she said one of his sisters was like to die of decline, and so-"

Well, well," burst in Tom, with something like a sigh at the effort. "I suppose

I must give up East. Come along, young 'un. What's your name? We'll go and have some supper, and then I'll show you our study."

"His name's George Arthur," said the matron, walking up to him with Tom, who grasped his little delicate hand, as the proper preliminary to making a chum of him, and felt as if he could have blown him away. "I've had his books and things put into the study, which his mamma has had new papered, and the sofa covered, and new green baize curtains over the door. [The diplomatic matron threw this in, to show that the new boy was contributing largely to the partnership comforts.] And Mrs. Arnold told me to say," she added, "that she should like you both to come up to tea with her. Master Brown, and the things are just gone up, I know."

You know the way,

Here was an announcement for Master Tom! He was to go up to tea the first night, just as if he were a sixth or fifth form boy, and of importance in the school world, instead of the most reckless young scapegrace among the fags. He felt himself lifted on to a higher moral and social platform at once. Nevertheless, he couldn't give up without a sigh the idea of the jolly supper in the housekeeper's room with East and the rest, and a rush round to all the studies of his friends afterward, to pour out the deeds and wonders of the holidays, to plot fifty plans for the coming half year, and to gather news of

who had left, and what new boys had come, who had got who's study, and where the new præpostors slept. However, Tom consoled himself with thinking that he couldn't have done all this with the new boy at his heels, and so marched off along the passages to the doctor's private house with his young charge in tow, in monstrous good-humor with himself and all the world. It is needless, and would be impertinent, to tell how the two young boys were received in that drawing-room. The lady who presided there is still living, and has carried with her to her peaceful home in the north the respect and love of all those who ever felt and shared that gentle and high-bred hospitality. Ay, many is the brave heart now doing its work and bearing its load in country curacies, London chambers, under the Indian sun, and in Australian towns and clearings, which looks back with fond and grateful memory to that school-house drawing-room, and dates much of its highest and best training to the lessons learned there.

Besides Mrs. Arnold, and one or two of the elder children, there were one of the younger masters, young Brooke, who was now in the sixth, and had succeeded to his brother's position and influence, and another sixth-form boy there, talking together before the fire. The master and young Brooke, now a great strapping fellow six feet high, eighteen years old, and powerful as a coal-heaver, nodded kindly to Tom, to his intense glory, and then went on talking; the other did not notice them. The hostess, after a few kind words, which led the boys at once and insensibly to feel at their ease, to begin talking to one another, left them with her own children while she finished a letter. The young ones got on fast and well, Tom holding out about a prodigious pony he had been riding out, and hearing stories of the winter glories of the lakes, when tea came in, and immediately after the doctor himself.

How frank, and kind, and manly, was his greeting to the party by the fire; it did Tom's heart good to see him and young Brooke shake hands, and look one another in the face; and he didn't fail to remark that Brooke was nearly as tall, and quite as broad, as the doctor. And his cup was full, when, in another moment, his master turned to him with another warm shake of the hand, and, seemingly oblivious of all

the late scrapes which he had been getung into, said, “Ah, Brown, you here! I hope you left your father and all well at home." "Yes, sir, quite well."

"And this is the little fellow who is to share your study? Well, he doesn't look as we should like to see him. He wants some Rugby air and cricket. And you must take him some good long walks-to Bilton Grange, and Caldecott's Spinneyand show him what pretty country we have about here.”

Tom wondered if the doctor knew that his visits to Bilton Grange were for the purpose of taking rooks' nests, (a proceeding strongly discountenanced by the owner thereof,) and those to Caldecott's Spinney were prompted chiefly by the conveniences for setting night-lines. What, didn't the doctor know? And what a noble use he always made of it. He almost resolved to abjure rook-pies and night-lines forever. The tea went merrily off, the doctor now talking of holiday doings, and then of the prospects of the half year, what chance there was for the Baliol scholarship, whether the eleven would be a good one. Everybody was at his ease, and everybody felt that he, young as he might be, was of some use in the little school world, and had a work to do there. Soon after tea the doctor went off to his study, and the young boys a few minutes afterward took their leave, and went out of the private door which led from the doctor's house into the middle passage.

At the fire, at the further end of the passage, was a crowd of boys in loud talk and laughter. There was a sudden pause when the door opened, and then a great shout of greeting, as Tom was recognized marching down the passage.

'O, I've been to tea with the doctor," says Tom, with great dignity.

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My eye," cried East. "O! so that's why Mary called you back, and you didn't come to supper. You lost something— that beef and pickles was no end good."

66 I say, , young fellow," cried Hall, detecting Arthur, and catching him by the collar, "what's your name? Where do you come from? How old are you?”

Tom saw Arthur shrink back and look scared as all the group turned to him, but thought it best to let him answer, standing by his side to support in case of need.

"Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire." "Don't call me sir,' you young muff. How old are you?" 66 Thirteen." "Can you sing?"

The poor boy was trembling and hesitating. Tom struck in, "You be hanged, Tadpole. He'll have to sing, whether he can or not, Saturday twelve weeks, and that's long enough off yet."

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66 Do you know him at home, Brown?" 'No, but he's my chum in Gray's old study, and it's near prayer time, and I haven't had a look at it yet. Come along, Arthur."

Away went the two, Tom longing to get his charge safe under cover, where he might advise him on his deportment.

"What a queer chum for Tom Brown," was the comment at the fire; and it must be confessed so thought Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, and surveyed the new green baize curtains, and the carpet and sofa, with much satisfaction.

"I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is, to make us so cosy. But look here now; you must answer straight up when the fellows speak to you, and don't be afraid. If you're afraid, you'll get bullied. And don't you say you can sing; and don't you ever talk about home, or your mother and sisters."

Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry. "But please," said he, "mayn't I talk about-about home to you?"

"O yes, I like it. But don't talk to boys you don't know; they'll call you home-sick, or mamma's darling, or some such stuff. What a jolly desk! Is that yours? And what stunning binding! Why, your school-books look like novels."

Tom was soon deep in Arthur's goods and chattels, all new and good enough for a fifth-form boy, and hardly thought of his friends outside, till the prayer-bell rung.

The school-house prayers were the same on this the first night as on the other nights, save for the gaps caused by the absence of those boys who came late, and the line of new boys who stood all together at the further table, of all sorts and sizes, like young bears, with all their troubles to come, as Tom's father had said to him when he was in the same position. He thought of it as he looked at the line, and poor, little, slight Arthur, standing with them, and as he was leading him up-stairs to Number 4, directly after prayers, and showing him

his bed. It was a huge, high, airy room, with two large windows looking on to the school close. There were twelve beds in the room. The one in the furthest corner by the fireplace occupied by the sixth-form boy, who was responsible for the discipline of the room.

Within a few minutes of their entry, all the other boys who slept in Number 4 had come up. The little fellows went quietly to their own beds, and began undressing and talking to one another in whispers ; while the elder, among whom was Tom, sat chatting about on one another's beds, with their jackets and waistcoats off. Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of his position. The idea of sleeping in the room with strange boys had clearly never crossed his mind before, and was as painful as it was strange to him. He could hardly bear to take his jacket off; however, presently with an effort off it came, and then he paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting at the bottom of his bed talking and laughing.

"Please, Brown," he whispered, " may I wash my face and hands?"

"Of course, if you like," said Tom, staring; "that's your wash-hand-stand under the window, second from your bed. You'll have to go down for more water in the morning, if you use it all." And on he went with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds out to his wash-hand-stand, and began his ablutions, thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention of the room.

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his washing and undressing, and put on his night-gown. He then looked round more nervously than ever. Two or three of the little boys were already in bed, sitting up with their chins on their knees. The light burned clear, the noise went on. It was a trying moment for the poor little lonely boy; however, this time he didn't ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped on his knees by his bedside, as he had done every day from his childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareth the sorrows of the tender child and the strong man in agony.

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, so that his back was toward Arthur, and he didn't see what had happened, and looked up in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed and sneered, and a big brutal fel