Webster answered one who inquired in what way he could become skillful and fluent in the use of language? "Read dictionaries," said he; "I read dictionaries. Are such books too dry to read, think you? There is great benefit in reading them, nevertheless; I know that from my own experience. Anybody might know as much from his own common sense. Why, just think a minute. A good English Dictionary, for instance, contains all the words in our language, together with an exhibition of their meaning and use. What readier way, then, can one take, to form an acquaintance with our language, and to gain a full command of it, than to study the dictionary, and transfer its treasures to the mind?

This, though, is not what I set out to say, exactly. I had in mind, a little incident connected with our spelling and defining, that amused us prodigiously one day. A certain scholar, remarkable for nothing in particular, except for a quantity of sense a little. less than common, when his turn came to deliver the word he had selected, roared out with considerable vigor, “b-u-t, but." Instantly we all put on a broad grin, and turned our eyes to the teacher to see what turn affairs would take. We had to wait but a short time for that. Mr. Brownjohn soon began, as usual, to call for the definition of the word. I suspect he did so just for form's sake. If he really thought we could give the meaning of such a word as but, he must have had a pretty high opinion of our abilities, or, at least, of our acquaintance with the niceties of language. Had we thought of it, we might, indeed, have referred to Noah Webster's famous old spelling-book, where, next to “butt, a barrel," stood "but, except." In fact, however, none of us thought of it; nor would that account of the matter have thrown much light into our minds, had some one chanced to have refreshed our memories with it.

Down went the word along the class, one frankly owning that he could tell nothing about it, and another shaking his head in sign of ignorance; till at length a fellow who stood away toward the foot, began to show symptoms of having caught the idea. His eye twinkled, a smile of satisfaction

beamed in his face, and he stood with one foot advanced, ready for a movement along up the lize. His whole look and manner thus declared to us, about as plainly as his tongue could, "Ah! now I have it." He seemed impatient to deliver himself, and the instant his turn came he sounded out boldly

"but end of a log;" and before the word was fairly out of his mouth, he made a spring for a considerably higher place in the class. Mr. Brownjohn gave him a check, however, and told him that his definition of the word would hardly do. If we had not then a hearty laugh all round, then we never had one in that old brown school-house.

"Did not that fellow pass among his companious for a genius?" I rather think not. I never heard anything of the kind. If I remember right, we con sidered him remarkable for nothing but this he had a way, both in speaking and in reading, of putting what we called a hook on to the end of a word; as, for example, "All men think all men mortal but themselves-eh." It may be, though, that he had genius, and that it began to bud on that very day when that little incident happened. At any rate, I know that he grew to something afterward. Only three or four of those who attended our school at that time ever got a liberal education; and he was one of them.

After leaving college, he worked himself up in the world to-I can't tell you where. The last time I heard of him, which was several years ago,

he was laboring as a teacher in a high-school. You see there is no telling beforehand what a boy will make. Sometimes dull scholars, and those who are despised and laughed at, yet wake up and outstrip their fellows, and come to shine as lights in the world.

ON A GOOD HOUSE-DOG CALLED "WATCH."

POOR faithful Watch thy watch of life is o'er,

And mute and senseless near the kitchen door

Thou layest, a breathless corpse, where thou stood to guard before;

Thy pliant temper, known and praised by all,

Thy prompt obedience to thy master's call;
Whether to climb the hill, or scour the plain,
Or drive enroaching hogs from out the lane;
Thy quick return, on motion of his hand,
To guard the door, or wait a fresh command;
Thy joy to meet at eve, with fawning play,
Domestic faces, absent but a day;

Thy bark, that might the boldest thief affright,
And patient watch, through many a dreary night-
All speak thy worth, but none could save thy breath,
For what is merit 'gainst the shafts of death;
Sleep, then, my dog! thy tour of duty o'er,
Where thief and trav'ler can disturb no more;
Content t' have gained all that thou canst have-
Thy master's plaudit, and a peaceful grave!

EW

FEW

OLD WHITTEMORE HILL.

EW there are among our readers but that the recollection of some old hill, or stream, or glen, wakes in their hearts, the memories of early childhood, and recalls to mind the scenes of youthful days of pleasure and of joy. To me the old Whittemore hill-with its stately pine on its very summit with solemn look toward heaven, though blasted by the lightning's flash, and stripped of all its early green-stands as a beacon light between childhood and old age, reminding me that menlike trees-grow old, and die; and yet bringing back the loved scenes of early youth with all their joys and happiness, making every pulse beat with fresh vigor, and I feel as young as when, on the first fourth of July I was large enough for my mother