more chores to do than there are although I sometimes think there are quite enough already. But it is time I was telling you something about my school. I attend the Academy over at Fulton, the small village which is about two miles from Uncle Nathan’s farm. The Academy is the only thing here which reminds me of Elmwood. It is a large building, two stories in height, painted white, and the grounds around it are thickly set with many different kinds of shade-trees. The upper story of the building is used as a Public Hall while the lower one is appropriated to the school. There is about an equal number of boys and girls attending this term. By-the-bye, Charley, when I first entered the school I was very much afraid that my own attainments would seem very little compared with those of my then unknown companions, but I have got rid of that fear now, I am in the class next the highest and am eagerly looking forward to the day, which I hope is not far distant, when I shall stand in the first ranks in Fulton Academy. There are two teachers. Mr. Oswald, the head master, and Mr. Lawrence, who is quite a young man, is the assistant teacher. This same assistant is very pompous in his manner, and when Mr. Oswald is not present, he is disposed to act something of the tyrant. He has red hair, which I believe is a matter of much annoyance to him, for he is uncommonly vain regarding his personal appearance. Knowing this, some of the boys delight in playing off jokes upon him. One day last week, Mr. Lawrence was leaning over a desk, working out a difficult example in Arithmetic, directly behind him was Ned Stanton, the most mirthful and fun-loving boy in the whole school. Ned took a match from his pocket and, first giving me a sly nudge to look, held it close to Mr. Lawrence’s head, making believe to light it by his red curling locks. The act was so sudden and withal so comic that I burst out laughing before I thought where I was. Mr. Oswald raised his eyes just in time to see Ned holding the match, I expected the fellow was in for a punishment for sure; but will you believe me when I tell you that Mr. Oswald actually laughed himself. He tried hard to put on a stern look, and said “I think Edward you had best attend to your ciphering.” The assistant was so busily occupied that he saw nor heard nothing of it all, till he raised his head, and seeing many of the scholars trying to conceal their laughter, and even observing an expression of quiet mirth on Mr. Oswald’s face, he looked from one to another with such a ludicrous manner of enquiry and astonishment it made the matter still worse. But, whatever Mr. Lawrence may lack in any way, is more than made up to us in Mr. Oswald. He is past thirty years of age, he is married, and has a little boy and girl who attend school. The little boy is very nice, and if I wasn’t afraid you would laugh at me I would say that I think Rose Oswald the handsomest girl I ever saw, and I have said it after all, laugh or no laugh. Mr.