considerable anxiety.  If that was the case years
ago, how much more so now?  The work is
harder, the anxiety greatly increased, the result
not so satisfactory, the examination being, to a
great extent, a lottery.  Therefore it is not
surprising that we should regard H.M.'s inspector
as a necessary evil.  The important day comes
only too soon and surely.  Perhaps the inspector
comes before his time, and finds the children
in the playground; perhaps after his time, and
you must wait; possibly he does not come at
all that day, and you get a letter the next morning
to say he will come some other day.  Then
is the time to ask yourself, "Hast any philosophy
in thee, shepherd?"  Well, but suppose he
has come.  Is he good tempered?  A great deal
depends upon that, be assured. Inspectors are
but men.  The weather, a bad breakfast, or an
unfortunate railway journey, affect them even as
others.  Try to make his first impressions
favourable.  Have the standards in order, and
all the returns ready.  Have ink and a quill pen
handy, and, above all, be sure that the school
secretary asks him "what time the examination
will be over, as luncheon will be ready at such
a time?"  Having done all this, let us hope the
fates will be propitious, and that the sun of the
inspector's countenance will shine upon you.

Many are the anecdotes of school inspectors.
The Rev. A. B. C. was paying his annual
visit to a school not a hundred miles from
Birmingham.  It was some years ago, when
geography was much more important than
at present.  The inspector wished to be told
all about the route to India, but the children
seemed to know very little about it.  At
last, in despair, he asked, "Could I go there
on a horse?"  One little fellow promptly
answered, "No, sir."  "And why not?" said the
inspector.  The boy answered, "Please, sir,
because you'd tumble off!"  Whether or not
any more questions were asked on that point
report sayeth not.  Visitors who come to meet
the inspector on an examination-day are
generally a great annoyance.  They drop in at all
hours of the day, and make as great a commotion
as possible.  Not content with coming
themselves, they often bring their children or
their dogs with them.  These little ones, of
course, with nothing to do, are restless enough,
and between them and the boys' love of dogs,
and the girls' admiration of the ladies' hats and
dresses, the master has a busy time of it.
School committees and managers are often
disagreeable visitors.  They may come too often
or not often enough; they may interfere too
much or too little; they may take too much
or too little upon them.  If the school is
supported by a lady, she is pretty sure to bother
you a good deal; but it is easy to persuade her
that all is as she would wish it, and, at the same
time, be as much the master of the school as
you could desire.  One of my friends left
Lady Y.'s school; when I asked why, I was told
because Lady Y. interfered too much; my
answer was, "And why did he not let her interfere?"
Many amusing things happen during
these visits.  I have heard of one young lady
who, to illustrate some point, asked, "What do
you call me?" One answers, "A wench," and
is called "a horrid boy;" another says, "A
young woman," he is "not a bad sort of a boy;"
while the third, who says, "A young lady," is
"a dear little thing."  Punch tells a tale of a
boy who, in answer to some question, told an
old lady her chain was brass, and who afterwards
"stood corrected."  Very serious people
are apt to be shocked if a little child reads, "and
the wedding was furnished with ghosts," instead
of, "and the wedding was furnished with guests"
(though there is more truth in the rendering
than at first sight appears); or instead of reading,
"then they remembered the day of old—Moses
and his servants," &c., reads it, "then they
remembered the days of old Moses."  One of my
lads one day read, "we will now eat (heat) the
poker," and was somewhat astonished when the
poker was handed to him with the remark,
"Now eat it." In a repetition of the Ten
Commandments, a boy required prompting for
the fourth, and the teacher started him with the
word, "Remember;" whereupon he set off at
full speed with "Remember, remember, the
fifth of November."

Clergymen in too many cases either do too
much in a school or too little, and it is difficult
to decide which is worse.  I shall, however,
say but little on this point, merely giving the
following little sketch: In the parish of G.,
the clergyman was a curate fresh from Oxford.
As he was fond of children, both duty and
inclination often led him into the village school.
He was almost always accompanied by three or
four dogs, which, of course, the moment he
opened the door, rushed frantically into the
room, to the youngsters' great delight.  They
were soon turned out; but anything like order
for the time was out of the question.  He
would, perhaps, give what he called a Scripture
lesson, which would consist of a set of the most
curious and disjointed questions imaginable.
He would go to the back row, put a question
or two to them, leaving the rest to do as they
liked; then to another part of the class, and so
on.  If the master did not stand by, the lesson
very soon did, for the noise and confusion
would be great.  Some of them pulled his coat,
even stroked his hair, and played all kinds of
pranks.  Sometimes they would make him
angry, but not often.  I give one or two of his
questions as a sample.  "How many foxes did
Samson send among the corn of the Philistines?"
"Who was Beelzebub?"  This question
he answered himself by saying, "Queer
fellow, wasn't he?"  In fact, he mostly
answered the questions himself.  He wound up
by distributing a parcel of nuts or a few
oranges.  Everybody knew when he was in
school by the watching dogs at the door.
A common remark of the women of the village
was, "Now, he's gone again to make the children
laugh."  For all this, he was one of the
most kind-hearted of men, and had an idea that
he did a great deal of work in the school.  This,