and a bright smile they enter, saluting the instructress. Quietly each takes her seat and her Bible. After reading in rotation, they close the book and lay it in its place, each repeating from memory the verse or verses that came to their share. If any question arises in their minds respecting the meaning of their allotted passages, they freely propose it. Should it require a longer explanation than comports with the morning occupations, it is deferred to the season allotted for conversation. A brief prayer ensues, to which they are required reverently to attend. Then the rules are read by the teacher, who, at the close of each separate one, pauses, while one of the young ladies utters in alternate response the reward or penalty that guards it.
But who is she, thus seated in chair of state side by side with the executive, reading with her the judicial code, to whom she defers as an adjunct, ever and anon throughout the day, and in a low voice seems to consult her? That is the Monitress. She has on a large slate before her the name of every pupil, opposite to which she registers their gains and losses by recitation or deportment. How earned she this position of honor and trust? By being at the head of the class at the close of the previous day. How came she there? By immaculate obedience to the rules? Yes—and by somewhat more. It had been observed, during my previous years of service, that correct orthography, and the accurate definition of words, had been too much neglected
