The Project Gutenberg eBook ofA-Naughty-Biography and other poems

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofA-Naughty-Biography and other poemsThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: A-Naughty-Biography and other poemsAuthor: Mrs. Enoch TaylorRelease date: October 16, 2019 [eBook #60504]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by MFR, John Campbell and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A-NAUGHTY-BIOGRAPHY AND OTHER POEMS ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: A-Naughty-Biography and other poemsAuthor: Mrs. Enoch TaylorRelease date: October 16, 2019 [eBook #60504]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by MFR, John Campbell and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)

Title: A-Naughty-Biography and other poems

Author: Mrs. Enoch Taylor

Release date: October 16, 2019 [eBook #60504]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by MFR, John Campbell and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A-NAUGHTY-BIOGRAPHY AND OTHER POEMS ***

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTESome minor changes to the text are noted at theend of the book.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Some minor changes to the text are noted at theend of the book.

A-NAUGHTY-BIOGRAPHYANDOTHER POEMS.BYMRS. ENOCH TAYLOR.CINCINNATI:Robert Clarke & Co., Print.1878.

BYMRS. ENOCH TAYLOR.

CINCINNATI:Robert Clarke & Co., Print.1878.

COPYRIGHTED.

MRS. ENOCH TAYLOR.

1878.

“My Dear Five Hundred.”

PAGE.A-Naughty-Biography,7My Infancy,7School Life,20Girlhood,38A “Good-Bye”-ography,56MISCELLANEOUS.The Village Belle,61St. Valentine’s Day,65The Rainy Day,67Autumn,68October,69Love’s Longings,70She Sleeps Beneath the Roses,72November,73Gone Blind,75Lines Written by the Seaside,77Twenty Summers,80Chiding “Love’s Chidings,”81Found Drowned,83The Dark Days of Winter,87The Song of the Slush,89Betrayed,91Summer Sighings,96Our Baby,97Cremation,98Response by Cindrella,100Answer by Author,100Alone,102A Critique on the Morris Lyceum,105Night’s Phases,114The Foundling,116The New Year,121Spring Specialties,123Music,124The Fair Ape of Phila.,126Decoration Ode,128The Honeymoon,130The Model Man,131The Stricken South,137“If ever I Cease to Love”,139An Appeal for the Memphis Orphans,141Waiting for Frost,143October,145George Francis Train,146Washington’s Birthday,149Adieu to “My Dear Five Hundred,”152

Full forty years have passed and gone,Since early on a winter’s morn,My infant eyes first struck the light.At once I showed my baby-spite,To find my new abode so plain,And half resolved I’d not remain.If I had unexpected come,And found this unpretending home,I might the negligence excused,But now I felt I was abused.For half a year the fact was knownThat I was on the road to town,And all the neighbors, far and near,Said, “Doctor’d bring a baby here.”And so I came at dawn of day,A-crying, too, I’ve heard them say,And found few preparations made—I’ve often wondered that I stayed.Plain petticoats and untrimmed slips,Pewter spoons that scratched my lips,A cradle made of painted pine,That rocked so rough it made me whine;Then three long hours every dayThe colic checked my baby play;For months this griping kept me riled,And nearly set my mother wild.At last our troubles seemed to wane,I thought I’d bid adieu to pain,When teething time, with all its pangs,Commenced its course with piercing twangs;My mother’d walk the floor by day—My pa by night, I’ve heard them say.My father, jolly, good, and kind,Would often half make up his mindTo slap me soundly if I cried,But his heart would fail him when he tried,And as he tossed and dandled meIn drowsiness upon his knee,They say the more he nursed and tried,The more I always screamed and cried,And often would each soul alarmUpon our little one-horse farm.These trials lasted just a year,The coast again seemed getting-clear,When all at once the whooping-coughAttacked and nearly took me off.For nine long weeks I whooped and choked,While mother nursed and father joked—He was always great to jest and pun,And turn all troubles into fun—He said thecrisisnow was here,And we had nothing worse to fear.Alas! his jesting hopes were vain,The whooping-cough did not remain,But measles next came breaking out,The pimples showing, little doubt,Another siege wasmine to bear.“To all the ills that flesh was heir,”I felt my infant lot was given,And really wished I was in heaven.But quiet comfort did arrive,And I began to grow and thrive,And ma and pa could take their rest,And thought themselves supremely blest.Just then I first began to talk;At later date, I learned to walk;But stammered out my early say,And stumbled on my infant way,Till one bright morn in early June,A baby “brought in a balloon,”Unjoints my little Grecian nose,My infant ire at once arose.Our family now was much too large,And then it was a fearful chargeFor mother, who had much to do.I’d try to put the baby through.I’d feel its tiny foot, and slyWould pinch or scratch, and make it cry,Or rub its head, with look so meek,And pull its hair or pinch its cheek;And mother would at once beginTo look for the offending pin,That made the “baby waby” shriek,Ne’er dreaming it was Bessie’s freak.So, at the early age of three,Being bad as bad could be,I never was a minute mute,And people thought me smart and cute;The baby was, I’m glad to say,More good and quiet in its way—Not half the trouble I had been—Unless I stuck it with a pin,Or rocked it hard, and made it cry,You scarce would know the babe was by.So time rolled on, and I intentOn infant mischief, came and went,Till little sister learned to talk.’Twas I that taught her first to walk;She’d tumble down—I’d pull her throughAnd scold her well, and shake her too.Then she would totter on and cry,While I would chase a butterfly,And leave her standing in the lane,A-wondering when I’d come again.Around the barn we used to roam,Or any place away from home;We hand-in-hand would tramp and play,From early morn till close of day,Upsetting all the honest nestsThat enterprising hens possessed,And loving little ducks to death,And out of chickens squeeze the breath,Till mother’d come and frown and fuss,And father, too, to save a muss.Then homeward bound you’d see us go,The family party in a row,But I was nearly always last,For when my penitence was past,I stopped at times upon the way,To finish my neglected play;And father laughed and mother’d scoldAbout the black sheep of the fold.Thus matters stood when I was five,The hardest little case alive.We spent the hottest summer daysWorking hard at baby-plays,Making pies of mud and clay,Hauling sand and dirt away;Through grass and puddles we would wade,Till we a hill or ditch had made.With muddy dresses,tousled hair,And dirty faces, we’d repairFrom lane to road, from road to lane,Through dirt and dust, through sun and rain.Our infant lives were passing by,When all at once, we scarce knew why,A shadow came upon our home,And all our household filled with gloom.Our father, ever good and kind,Was taken from our midst, to findA better home beyond the skies,Which lasting happiness supplies,And mother and five little onesWere left to tread the world alone.But blessings came from every friendThat could a kind assistance lend;Our lot, though lonely, sad, and scant,Was brightened and relieved from wantFor kindred hearts, with willing hand,Gave shelter to our orphan band.Our home, of course, must scattered beTo suit the sad emergency.Our little circle’s severed tiesDimmed my mother’s loving eyes,But still her grateful heart was gladTo know the help and hope we had.I thought in this extremity,There’d be a wondrous rush for me,That I’d be claimed by all our kin,But found myself quite taken in.My country aunts took all the rest,Though, after all, we fared the best.The oldest boy, my brother Joe,Who helped my father plough and hoe,Was my especial pet and pride,Now, since brother Sam had died.So, when my city aunt arrivedTo take her pick, at once, I strivedTo be selected as her choice,For Joe was pet among the boys,And then we could together go,The city sights each other show.So, sure enough, our aunty cameA-riding grandly up the lane,And caught me in my dishabille,Much against my wayward will;For I had hoped she’d find me clean,That she might then and there have seenHow well I’d look in city guise.Why did she take me by surprise?The Diamond State was then our home,And aunty came from Quakerdom,A-looking prim and quite severe,But still, I felt I needn’t fear,For I had much to recommendMy ladyship, you may depend.I dressed myself with special care,And put on quite a company air;And, strutting past my maiden aunt,I wondered what more she could want;She put her specs upon her nose,And closely scanned my country clothes,And asked if I was always good;Never naughty, pert, or rude.I shunned her kind but searching eye,And half resolved, I’d not reply,As I had nothing good to tell,My silence might do just as well.I thought she’d find out, soon enough,My manners were a little rough,And did not want to disenchantMy new-made friend, and city aunt.So, looking meek and kind of shy,I paused, before I made reply;Then told her sometimes I was bad,But blamed the company that I had;’Twas never any fault of mine,If ever I cut up a shine,And any mischief that was doneWas nearly always just for fun.So aunty smiled, and hoped I’d beA little lady, and she’d seeIf she could take me up to town,And try to tone my manners down.I then, at once, desired to know,If she couldn’t take my brother, Joe.She said she rather thought she would,If both would promise to be good.So off, in haste, I quickly ran,To tell of aunty’s pleasant plan,To dream of city’s new delights,And think of all the wondrous sightsThat soon would greet our verdant eyesAnd fill our hearts with glad surprise.So, then we soon began to pack—Our outfit most was on our back—Our trunks and traps were small and few,Which, fortunately, aunty knew.So, on a balmy, summer day,We all prepared to start awayTo leave our home and mother, kind,And in the world our lot to find;When will life ever seem as brightAs that receding from our sight?So, slowly riding down the laneWe ne’er could call our own again,Poor mother wept in silent woe,But thought it best for us to go.So, next you’ll see the orphan pairIn the midst of city’s stifled air;No fields, no lanes, no trees to climb,A-wondering how we’d kill the time.What earthly goods we’d gladly give,To get back home again to live!Our aunty, sensible and kind,Told us to leave regrets behind,And, in her wise and pleasant way,Informed us, life was not all play.But childhood’s troubles seldom lastMuch longer than the cause is past.The city soon began to beA wonder and a joy to me;My aunty got me pretty clothesAnd taught me how to turn my toes;She’d dress me up so clean and sweetAnd send me out into the street.I’d miss the “pies” and “puddles” thereAnd to the gutters I’d repair,And play and paddle there in glee,Till I was summoned in to tea.My vixen spirit, as of old,New mischief daily would unfold,And aunty shuddered, as she sawHow little I respected law;So, wishing me to live by rule,She entered me, at once, in school.

Full forty years have passed and gone,

Since early on a winter’s morn,

My infant eyes first struck the light.

At once I showed my baby-spite,

To find my new abode so plain,

And half resolved I’d not remain.

If I had unexpected come,

And found this unpretending home,

I might the negligence excused,

But now I felt I was abused.

For half a year the fact was knownThat I was on the road to town,And all the neighbors, far and near,Said, “Doctor’d bring a baby here.”And so I came at dawn of day,A-crying, too, I’ve heard them say,And found few preparations made—I’ve often wondered that I stayed.

For half a year the fact was known

That I was on the road to town,

And all the neighbors, far and near,

Said, “Doctor’d bring a baby here.”

And so I came at dawn of day,

A-crying, too, I’ve heard them say,

And found few preparations made—

I’ve often wondered that I stayed.

Plain petticoats and untrimmed slips,Pewter spoons that scratched my lips,A cradle made of painted pine,That rocked so rough it made me whine;Then three long hours every dayThe colic checked my baby play;For months this griping kept me riled,And nearly set my mother wild.

Plain petticoats and untrimmed slips,

Pewter spoons that scratched my lips,

A cradle made of painted pine,

That rocked so rough it made me whine;

Then three long hours every day

The colic checked my baby play;

For months this griping kept me riled,

And nearly set my mother wild.

At last our troubles seemed to wane,I thought I’d bid adieu to pain,When teething time, with all its pangs,Commenced its course with piercing twangs;My mother’d walk the floor by day—My pa by night, I’ve heard them say.

At last our troubles seemed to wane,

I thought I’d bid adieu to pain,

When teething time, with all its pangs,

Commenced its course with piercing twangs;

My mother’d walk the floor by day—

My pa by night, I’ve heard them say.

My father, jolly, good, and kind,Would often half make up his mindTo slap me soundly if I cried,But his heart would fail him when he tried,And as he tossed and dandled meIn drowsiness upon his knee,They say the more he nursed and tried,The more I always screamed and cried,And often would each soul alarmUpon our little one-horse farm.

My father, jolly, good, and kind,

Would often half make up his mind

To slap me soundly if I cried,

But his heart would fail him when he tried,

And as he tossed and dandled me

In drowsiness upon his knee,

They say the more he nursed and tried,

The more I always screamed and cried,

And often would each soul alarm

Upon our little one-horse farm.

These trials lasted just a year,The coast again seemed getting-clear,When all at once the whooping-coughAttacked and nearly took me off.For nine long weeks I whooped and choked,While mother nursed and father joked—He was always great to jest and pun,And turn all troubles into fun—He said thecrisisnow was here,And we had nothing worse to fear.

These trials lasted just a year,

The coast again seemed getting-clear,

When all at once the whooping-cough

Attacked and nearly took me off.

For nine long weeks I whooped and choked,

While mother nursed and father joked—

He was always great to jest and pun,

And turn all troubles into fun—

He said thecrisisnow was here,

And we had nothing worse to fear.

Alas! his jesting hopes were vain,The whooping-cough did not remain,But measles next came breaking out,The pimples showing, little doubt,Another siege wasmine to bear.“To all the ills that flesh was heir,”I felt my infant lot was given,And really wished I was in heaven.

Alas! his jesting hopes were vain,

The whooping-cough did not remain,

But measles next came breaking out,

The pimples showing, little doubt,

Another siege wasmine to bear.

“To all the ills that flesh was heir,”

I felt my infant lot was given,

And really wished I was in heaven.

But quiet comfort did arrive,And I began to grow and thrive,And ma and pa could take their rest,And thought themselves supremely blest.Just then I first began to talk;At later date, I learned to walk;But stammered out my early say,And stumbled on my infant way,Till one bright morn in early June,A baby “brought in a balloon,”Unjoints my little Grecian nose,My infant ire at once arose.

But quiet comfort did arrive,

And I began to grow and thrive,

And ma and pa could take their rest,

And thought themselves supremely blest.

Just then I first began to talk;

At later date, I learned to walk;

But stammered out my early say,

And stumbled on my infant way,

Till one bright morn in early June,

A baby “brought in a balloon,”

Unjoints my little Grecian nose,

My infant ire at once arose.

Our family now was much too large,And then it was a fearful chargeFor mother, who had much to do.I’d try to put the baby through.I’d feel its tiny foot, and slyWould pinch or scratch, and make it cry,Or rub its head, with look so meek,And pull its hair or pinch its cheek;And mother would at once beginTo look for the offending pin,That made the “baby waby” shriek,Ne’er dreaming it was Bessie’s freak.

Our family now was much too large,

And then it was a fearful charge

For mother, who had much to do.

I’d try to put the baby through.

I’d feel its tiny foot, and sly

Would pinch or scratch, and make it cry,

Or rub its head, with look so meek,

And pull its hair or pinch its cheek;

And mother would at once begin

To look for the offending pin,

That made the “baby waby” shriek,

Ne’er dreaming it was Bessie’s freak.

So, at the early age of three,Being bad as bad could be,I never was a minute mute,And people thought me smart and cute;The baby was, I’m glad to say,More good and quiet in its way—Not half the trouble I had been—Unless I stuck it with a pin,Or rocked it hard, and made it cry,You scarce would know the babe was by.

So, at the early age of three,

Being bad as bad could be,

I never was a minute mute,

And people thought me smart and cute;

The baby was, I’m glad to say,

More good and quiet in its way—

Not half the trouble I had been—

Unless I stuck it with a pin,

Or rocked it hard, and made it cry,

You scarce would know the babe was by.

So time rolled on, and I intentOn infant mischief, came and went,Till little sister learned to talk.’Twas I that taught her first to walk;She’d tumble down—I’d pull her throughAnd scold her well, and shake her too.Then she would totter on and cry,While I would chase a butterfly,And leave her standing in the lane,A-wondering when I’d come again.

So time rolled on, and I intent

On infant mischief, came and went,

Till little sister learned to talk.

’Twas I that taught her first to walk;

She’d tumble down—I’d pull her through

And scold her well, and shake her too.

Then she would totter on and cry,

While I would chase a butterfly,

And leave her standing in the lane,

A-wondering when I’d come again.

Around the barn we used to roam,Or any place away from home;We hand-in-hand would tramp and play,From early morn till close of day,Upsetting all the honest nestsThat enterprising hens possessed,And loving little ducks to death,And out of chickens squeeze the breath,Till mother’d come and frown and fuss,And father, too, to save a muss.

Around the barn we used to roam,

Or any place away from home;

We hand-in-hand would tramp and play,

From early morn till close of day,

Upsetting all the honest nests

That enterprising hens possessed,

And loving little ducks to death,

And out of chickens squeeze the breath,

Till mother’d come and frown and fuss,

And father, too, to save a muss.

Then homeward bound you’d see us go,The family party in a row,But I was nearly always last,For when my penitence was past,I stopped at times upon the way,To finish my neglected play;And father laughed and mother’d scoldAbout the black sheep of the fold.

Then homeward bound you’d see us go,

The family party in a row,

But I was nearly always last,

For when my penitence was past,

I stopped at times upon the way,

To finish my neglected play;

And father laughed and mother’d scold

About the black sheep of the fold.

Thus matters stood when I was five,The hardest little case alive.We spent the hottest summer daysWorking hard at baby-plays,Making pies of mud and clay,Hauling sand and dirt away;Through grass and puddles we would wade,Till we a hill or ditch had made.With muddy dresses,tousled hair,And dirty faces, we’d repairFrom lane to road, from road to lane,Through dirt and dust, through sun and rain.

Thus matters stood when I was five,

The hardest little case alive.

We spent the hottest summer days

Working hard at baby-plays,

Making pies of mud and clay,

Hauling sand and dirt away;

Through grass and puddles we would wade,

Till we a hill or ditch had made.

With muddy dresses,tousled hair,

And dirty faces, we’d repair

From lane to road, from road to lane,

Through dirt and dust, through sun and rain.

Our infant lives were passing by,When all at once, we scarce knew why,A shadow came upon our home,And all our household filled with gloom.Our father, ever good and kind,Was taken from our midst, to findA better home beyond the skies,Which lasting happiness supplies,And mother and five little onesWere left to tread the world alone.

Our infant lives were passing by,

When all at once, we scarce knew why,

A shadow came upon our home,

And all our household filled with gloom.

Our father, ever good and kind,

Was taken from our midst, to find

A better home beyond the skies,

Which lasting happiness supplies,

And mother and five little ones

Were left to tread the world alone.

But blessings came from every friendThat could a kind assistance lend;Our lot, though lonely, sad, and scant,Was brightened and relieved from wantFor kindred hearts, with willing hand,Gave shelter to our orphan band.Our home, of course, must scattered beTo suit the sad emergency.Our little circle’s severed tiesDimmed my mother’s loving eyes,But still her grateful heart was gladTo know the help and hope we had.

But blessings came from every friend

That could a kind assistance lend;

Our lot, though lonely, sad, and scant,

Was brightened and relieved from want

For kindred hearts, with willing hand,

Gave shelter to our orphan band.

Our home, of course, must scattered be

To suit the sad emergency.

Our little circle’s severed ties

Dimmed my mother’s loving eyes,

But still her grateful heart was glad

To know the help and hope we had.

I thought in this extremity,There’d be a wondrous rush for me,That I’d be claimed by all our kin,But found myself quite taken in.My country aunts took all the rest,Though, after all, we fared the best.The oldest boy, my brother Joe,Who helped my father plough and hoe,Was my especial pet and pride,Now, since brother Sam had died.

I thought in this extremity,

There’d be a wondrous rush for me,

That I’d be claimed by all our kin,

But found myself quite taken in.

My country aunts took all the rest,

Though, after all, we fared the best.

The oldest boy, my brother Joe,

Who helped my father plough and hoe,

Was my especial pet and pride,

Now, since brother Sam had died.

So, when my city aunt arrivedTo take her pick, at once, I strivedTo be selected as her choice,For Joe was pet among the boys,And then we could together go,The city sights each other show.

So, when my city aunt arrived

To take her pick, at once, I strived

To be selected as her choice,

For Joe was pet among the boys,

And then we could together go,

The city sights each other show.

So, sure enough, our aunty cameA-riding grandly up the lane,And caught me in my dishabille,Much against my wayward will;For I had hoped she’d find me clean,That she might then and there have seenHow well I’d look in city guise.Why did she take me by surprise?

So, sure enough, our aunty came

A-riding grandly up the lane,

And caught me in my dishabille,

Much against my wayward will;

For I had hoped she’d find me clean,

That she might then and there have seen

How well I’d look in city guise.

Why did she take me by surprise?

The Diamond State was then our home,And aunty came from Quakerdom,A-looking prim and quite severe,But still, I felt I needn’t fear,For I had much to recommendMy ladyship, you may depend.I dressed myself with special care,And put on quite a company air;And, strutting past my maiden aunt,I wondered what more she could want;She put her specs upon her nose,And closely scanned my country clothes,And asked if I was always good;Never naughty, pert, or rude.I shunned her kind but searching eye,And half resolved, I’d not reply,As I had nothing good to tell,My silence might do just as well.I thought she’d find out, soon enough,My manners were a little rough,And did not want to disenchantMy new-made friend, and city aunt.

The Diamond State was then our home,

And aunty came from Quakerdom,

A-looking prim and quite severe,

But still, I felt I needn’t fear,

For I had much to recommend

My ladyship, you may depend.

I dressed myself with special care,

And put on quite a company air;

And, strutting past my maiden aunt,

I wondered what more she could want;

She put her specs upon her nose,

And closely scanned my country clothes,

And asked if I was always good;

Never naughty, pert, or rude.

I shunned her kind but searching eye,

And half resolved, I’d not reply,

As I had nothing good to tell,

My silence might do just as well.

I thought she’d find out, soon enough,

My manners were a little rough,

And did not want to disenchant

My new-made friend, and city aunt.

So, looking meek and kind of shy,I paused, before I made reply;Then told her sometimes I was bad,But blamed the company that I had;’Twas never any fault of mine,If ever I cut up a shine,And any mischief that was doneWas nearly always just for fun.

So, looking meek and kind of shy,

I paused, before I made reply;

Then told her sometimes I was bad,

But blamed the company that I had;

’Twas never any fault of mine,

If ever I cut up a shine,

And any mischief that was done

Was nearly always just for fun.

So aunty smiled, and hoped I’d beA little lady, and she’d seeIf she could take me up to town,And try to tone my manners down.I then, at once, desired to know,If she couldn’t take my brother, Joe.She said she rather thought she would,If both would promise to be good.So off, in haste, I quickly ran,To tell of aunty’s pleasant plan,To dream of city’s new delights,And think of all the wondrous sightsThat soon would greet our verdant eyesAnd fill our hearts with glad surprise.So, then we soon began to pack—Our outfit most was on our back—Our trunks and traps were small and few,Which, fortunately, aunty knew.

So aunty smiled, and hoped I’d be

A little lady, and she’d see

If she could take me up to town,

And try to tone my manners down.

I then, at once, desired to know,

If she couldn’t take my brother, Joe.

She said she rather thought she would,

If both would promise to be good.

So off, in haste, I quickly ran,

To tell of aunty’s pleasant plan,

To dream of city’s new delights,

And think of all the wondrous sights

That soon would greet our verdant eyes

And fill our hearts with glad surprise.

So, then we soon began to pack—

Our outfit most was on our back—

Our trunks and traps were small and few,

Which, fortunately, aunty knew.

So, on a balmy, summer day,We all prepared to start awayTo leave our home and mother, kind,And in the world our lot to find;When will life ever seem as brightAs that receding from our sight?So, slowly riding down the laneWe ne’er could call our own again,Poor mother wept in silent woe,But thought it best for us to go.

So, on a balmy, summer day,

We all prepared to start away

To leave our home and mother, kind,

And in the world our lot to find;

When will life ever seem as bright

As that receding from our sight?

So, slowly riding down the lane

We ne’er could call our own again,

Poor mother wept in silent woe,

But thought it best for us to go.

So, next you’ll see the orphan pairIn the midst of city’s stifled air;No fields, no lanes, no trees to climb,A-wondering how we’d kill the time.What earthly goods we’d gladly give,To get back home again to live!Our aunty, sensible and kind,Told us to leave regrets behind,And, in her wise and pleasant way,Informed us, life was not all play.

So, next you’ll see the orphan pair

In the midst of city’s stifled air;

No fields, no lanes, no trees to climb,

A-wondering how we’d kill the time.

What earthly goods we’d gladly give,

To get back home again to live!

Our aunty, sensible and kind,

Told us to leave regrets behind,

And, in her wise and pleasant way,

Informed us, life was not all play.

But childhood’s troubles seldom lastMuch longer than the cause is past.The city soon began to beA wonder and a joy to me;My aunty got me pretty clothesAnd taught me how to turn my toes;She’d dress me up so clean and sweetAnd send me out into the street.I’d miss the “pies” and “puddles” thereAnd to the gutters I’d repair,And play and paddle there in glee,Till I was summoned in to tea.

But childhood’s troubles seldom last

Much longer than the cause is past.

The city soon began to be

A wonder and a joy to me;

My aunty got me pretty clothes

And taught me how to turn my toes;

She’d dress me up so clean and sweet

And send me out into the street.

I’d miss the “pies” and “puddles” there

And to the gutters I’d repair,

And play and paddle there in glee,

Till I was summoned in to tea.

My vixen spirit, as of old,New mischief daily would unfold,And aunty shuddered, as she sawHow little I respected law;So, wishing me to live by rule,She entered me, at once, in school.

My vixen spirit, as of old,

New mischief daily would unfold,

And aunty shuddered, as she saw

How little I respected law;

So, wishing me to live by rule,

She entered me, at once, in school.

One Monday morn in early FallWe made the nearest school a call,To ascertain if they would takeA pupil willing to forsakeAll mischief and frivolity,And strictly stick to A, B, C.The teacher showed a little doubt—She saw how I began to pout;I did not like the busy looksOf slates and pencils, chalk and books—I felt I’d much prefer to beA stranger to my A, B, C.I knew more now, at any rate,Than many children did at eight,Then why should I, that was so smart,Go learning lessons all by heart?I showed my feelings in my face,And aunty, vexed at my disgrace,At once enrolled my naughty nameUpon the future book of fame.I then and there began to climbThe hill of science; oh! the timeIt took to teach me how to do;But I fought it out, and struggled through.The teacher seldom suited me—Indeed, we never could agree;Her notions always seem so queer,I wondered why they put her there;And aunty, too, was odd as she,Both seemed to be opposed to me.I felt if ever I grew big,I’d love to give them both a dig.At times my patience would give out;You couldn’t play a bit withoutAt once, she’d raise an awful fuss—A little laugh would make a muss.You couldn’t talk in any peace,But you’d be told at once to cease,And look upon your book or slate,Or be kept in till awful late,You even couldn’t turn around,No matter what the sight or soundThat made you want to look behind—You might have just as well been blind,Or deaf and dumb, for all she cared—She always kept you kind of scared.No matter what you had to say,She’d surely look another way,And talk and teach, and teach and talk;Slate and pencil, book and chalk;Were ever at her finger ends—I wonder she had any friends.Indeed, she hadn’t many there,Except the good girls round her chair.They seemed to think her very nice;I wished they’d taken my advice,And never mind a word she said;They soon would found, what motive ledHer to appear so sweet to them,And that she wasn’t such a gem.She had a special spite at me,The reason why I couldn’t see;She’d scold me soundly every day,Whether I would work or play;And then she’d often keep me in,For just a little bit of sin,That no one else would scarcely see—She was just as mean as mean could be.If it hadn’t been for family pride,I think I’d left that school or died;But aunty thought it best to stay,And she nearly always had her way.So there I was for one long year,And then I left without a tear.I’d learned to read and write and spell,Indeed, they said I studied well.My failing was behaving bad,At least that’s what the teacher said;But she was always saying things,And telling tales that trouble brings.I’ve left her class, I’m glad to say—I’ll try a new one now to-day.Alas, a-lack-a-day—ah! me,I fear we too will disagree;There’s much that’s new I want to know,And ask the girls if they will showExactly how the things are done,Besides we want a little fun,Just to cheer us as we learn—The teachers are so stiff and stern,I wouldn’t be one for a farm—They do the children so much harm;Though aunty said to-night at teaThat’s what she’s going to make of me.I don’t know what I’ve ever doneTo her, indeed to any one,That I should suffer such a fate,Or learn a trade I love to hate.I tell you what, when I get big,You’ll see me dance a different jig;I won’t be sober, staid, and stern,And try to make the children learn.Poor little things, I’ll let them be,Remembering how it was with me.Just worry, lecture, preach, and scold,Enough to make a young one old.At school and home I had no rest,Was always getting blamed or blest,And mostly too without a cause,Just for breaking little laws,That never should, by rights, been made,Nor never would by Bessie’s aid.So, thus my early life was spent,From class to class I yearly went;Each teacher seemed to be my foe,And quite content to have me go;But still I had my share of fun,In spite of all the scolding done.In tricks and pranks I took delight,And misbehaved with all my might;In tact and lessons I excelled,Or I should long since been expelled.The merits that I got to-dayTo-morrow’s marks would wipe away.But, at the end of every term,Remorse and resolution firmWould fill me with a new desire;But “all the fat was in the fire”The minute mischief crossed my way,Which it, alas! did every day.Thus school life, with its hopes and fears—At least the first short seven years—Was drawing nearly to a close,When, all at once, the question rose—What should next be done with me.The teachers gladly did agree,That I should try my luck and leave—The high-school might my name retrieve.So I studied hard, both night and day,(But leisure took for fun and play),Till testing time, with questions hard,Brought me my happy hope’s reward.I did not pass with honors high—I guess you know the reason why;But still I passed, and was content,And to my laurels proudly went,And talked as big and looked as wiseAs those that got the highest prize;And felt it was a happy school,Possessing such a precious jewel.So, at the age of green fourteen,I felt as proud as any queen.A new leaf I resolved to turn,And study hard and laurels earn;I stood quite high for one so young,And could I only held my tongueI might have been almost a star,But mischief would my merits mar;For what I gained by work and tact,I’d loose by some rebellious act:I sacrificed myself to fun—My ablest efforts were undoneBy some wild freak or fractured rule,That put me down a dot in school.I soon began, as heretofore,To find the teachers quite a bore,In interfering all the time—Indeed it seems a chronic crime,To be officious and preventThe pleasures that were my intent.They so delight in being dryAnd dull and stiff. I wonder why?They looked with frowning doubt and dreadOn every thing I did and said.At times they’d give a sickly smileAt my peculiar wayward style;But in a moment they would beA-pointing morals all at me.As we were taught full forty things,With names as long as corset strings,And teachers stern and dignified,I future punishment denied.I felt we had our troubles here,And naught to come was aught to fear.Away into the quiet nightI’d pore and ponder by the lightThat poets call the “midnight oil,”Some crooked problem to uncoil,Or draw a map, or parse a verse,Or write an essay, which was worse,Or worry with celestial globes—The very thought my bosom probesWith recollections full of woe.What good is it for us to knowThat Mars has belts or Saturn rings—A thousand other different things?That don’t concern this world at all,Nor never have since Adam’s fall.Then scanning Milton through and throughIs what I did despise to do;Nor did I care a single dimeIf all his blank verse had been rhyme,Or was awry or wrong in rhythm,Or had it been with him—in Heaven.That Paradise was lost I knew—I never doubted it was true;Then why extend the dreary tale,To worry pupils—maid and male?Mythology and classic loreIs such an everlasting bore.The other poets we’d dissect,And try their metre to correct—And murder many of their laysSo sadly that it would amazeThe sainted soul, could it but knowThe scandalous scanning done below!Then algebra, withxandz,Would always vex and puzzle me,And make me wish that each equationWas in the sea, with mensuration.I’d sigh and cipher for an hour,And long for calculating powerTo get the cube root or the square,Or puzzle out the proper shareThat A and B would have to getIn value either gross or net.Then hunting rivers, lakes, and bays,And telling all their different waysOf rising, flowing, and their end,Or with what waters they may blend;And all their lengths and widths and size,And what each state or town supplies,Of products, imports, exports, oresThat yearly pass its special shores.Ah me! the mountains I would climbTo find the height, and what a timeI’ve had with longitudes and poles,Enough to try poor pupils’ souls—And tropics, latitudes, and zones,That gave me geographic groans.And then we had to daily tellThe capitals and towns as well,Of territories and of states,And give in full the different datesOf settlements and civil wars,And then we’d have five minutes pause,Before our history began.Thus our daily duties ran.We never knew an hour’s peace;For if we weren’t in Rome or Greece,Discussing troubles old and stale,Some insurrection to bewail,We’d have our massacres at home,To fill our hearts with bygone gloom,Rebellions, riots, rows, and wars,Breaking all the country’s laws;But then that was so long ago,I hardly think we need to knowAll those troubles that are past,It’s bad enough to know the last.And then I think it’s really vileTo take us through the British isle,And worry o’er her wars and woes,Her usurpations, overthrows,Her kings and queens both killed and crowned.We’ll never get a single pound,For all our interest in their fate,No matter how large their estate.I’m tired now of history.I’ve learned it all, and can not seeWhy we have to know so muchAbout the English, French, and Dutch,And all these men of ancient times,Their virtue, valor, and their crimes.We have as many of to-dayAs we can well their traits portray.Then why go back to ages pastTo get our heroes for a cast?Or worry o’er the wars of yore,When we can have them at our door,Green and fresh, of recent date,In our own land, indeed our state?What trials teachers do invent.They never seem to be contentWithout a torture of some kindTo agitate the pupil’s mind.And as for rest or idle hours,The very thought their temper sours.But study early, study late,Things you like and things you hate;Study hard and study long,Whether you are weak or strong.I tried my best to keep my brainHealthy, sound, and free from pain;I never had it suffer aughtFrom exercise of weighty thought.All extra care and overwork,My great ambition was to shirk;To save the tissues of my mind,I’ve always been somewhat inclined!I’d study just to struggle through,But not enough to make me blue,Nor any recreation miss,Which now I think accounts for thisEntire health which is my boast,That over study might have lost.In moderation thus I wentFrom grade to grade, and was content.In tricks and trifling, mirth and fun,Was always passing number one.The teachers vexed at every turn,And wanting me to leave or learn,Would often help me gladly throughTheir special class into a new,Thus hoping then and there to findMore occupation for my mind,And for themselves relief and rest.How little my adieus distressed;For those bereft of such a prizeLooked coolly on with driest eyes!Once or twice I skipped a grade,And cast the good girls in the shade,Thus rid that teacher most entireOf all the mischief I’d inspire;’Twas less in learning than in luck,Together with my tact and pluck,That helped me prematurely through,But that is nothing odd or new.I gushed as much at my advanceAs though it was no game of chance,And never hinted in the least,As honors on me so increased,’Twas troubled teachers pushing meTo get me through thus rapidly.So thus, for two years and a half—I think of it, and have to laugh—I spent the chequered, closing daysOf school life, with its blame and praise,Till all at once the president,On my departure firmly bent,Informed me I must now beginMy graduating bays to win.He seemed quite glad to have me leave,Indeed, there’s no one seemed to grieveAbout my going at this date,So I resolved to graduate.My parting essay now I write,And try sad feelings to excite.I use the most pathetic strain,As though I’d willingly remainTo share those sweet scholastic joysThat leaving school at once destroys.I tried to make their bosoms sighFor blessings now about to fly.But, ah! alas, what cool contentMy phrases to their faces lent!I sadly spoke of happy scenesOf school life, with its hopes and dreams,Of patient teachers, just and kind,And wondered if we’d ever findIn life again, such friends as these,(And, aside, I thought) as hard to please.I really felt it was a timeWhen I should utter thoughts sublime,But no one seemed to be disposedTo feel the slightest discomposed;Nor could I hear a sob or sigh,Or see a single moistened eye!Each teacher that I left behindSeemed reconciled and well resignedTo hear my valedictory read,And every parting word I saidGave pleasure, I could plainly see,To all the high-school faculty.That day in June I’ll ne’er forget,Their happy faces haunt me yet.So eager, anxious, and content,To lose a light, ’twas only lent.I felt their hearts were made of stone,To be so glad when I was gone.Our president, so mild and meek,So happy was, he scarce could speak;He said mywelfarewas his aim,But now myfarewellwas the same!So I hurriedly my parchment drew,And bid thehappyschool adieu.

One Monday morn in early FallWe made the nearest school a call,To ascertain if they would takeA pupil willing to forsakeAll mischief and frivolity,And strictly stick to A, B, C.

One Monday morn in early Fall

We made the nearest school a call,

To ascertain if they would take

A pupil willing to forsake

All mischief and frivolity,

And strictly stick to A, B, C.

The teacher showed a little doubt—She saw how I began to pout;I did not like the busy looksOf slates and pencils, chalk and books—I felt I’d much prefer to beA stranger to my A, B, C.

The teacher showed a little doubt—

She saw how I began to pout;

I did not like the busy looks

Of slates and pencils, chalk and books—

I felt I’d much prefer to be

A stranger to my A, B, C.

I knew more now, at any rate,Than many children did at eight,Then why should I, that was so smart,Go learning lessons all by heart?I showed my feelings in my face,And aunty, vexed at my disgrace,At once enrolled my naughty nameUpon the future book of fame.

I knew more now, at any rate,

Than many children did at eight,

Then why should I, that was so smart,

Go learning lessons all by heart?

I showed my feelings in my face,

And aunty, vexed at my disgrace,

At once enrolled my naughty name

Upon the future book of fame.

I then and there began to climbThe hill of science; oh! the timeIt took to teach me how to do;But I fought it out, and struggled through.The teacher seldom suited me—Indeed, we never could agree;Her notions always seem so queer,I wondered why they put her there;And aunty, too, was odd as she,Both seemed to be opposed to me.I felt if ever I grew big,I’d love to give them both a dig.

I then and there began to climb

The hill of science; oh! the time

It took to teach me how to do;

But I fought it out, and struggled through.

The teacher seldom suited me—

Indeed, we never could agree;

Her notions always seem so queer,

I wondered why they put her there;

And aunty, too, was odd as she,

Both seemed to be opposed to me.

I felt if ever I grew big,

I’d love to give them both a dig.

At times my patience would give out;You couldn’t play a bit withoutAt once, she’d raise an awful fuss—A little laugh would make a muss.You couldn’t talk in any peace,But you’d be told at once to cease,And look upon your book or slate,Or be kept in till awful late,You even couldn’t turn around,No matter what the sight or soundThat made you want to look behind—You might have just as well been blind,Or deaf and dumb, for all she cared—She always kept you kind of scared.

At times my patience would give out;

You couldn’t play a bit without

At once, she’d raise an awful fuss—

A little laugh would make a muss.

You couldn’t talk in any peace,

But you’d be told at once to cease,

And look upon your book or slate,

Or be kept in till awful late,

You even couldn’t turn around,

No matter what the sight or sound

That made you want to look behind—

You might have just as well been blind,

Or deaf and dumb, for all she cared—

She always kept you kind of scared.

No matter what you had to say,She’d surely look another way,And talk and teach, and teach and talk;Slate and pencil, book and chalk;Were ever at her finger ends—I wonder she had any friends.Indeed, she hadn’t many there,Except the good girls round her chair.They seemed to think her very nice;I wished they’d taken my advice,And never mind a word she said;They soon would found, what motive ledHer to appear so sweet to them,And that she wasn’t such a gem.

No matter what you had to say,

She’d surely look another way,

And talk and teach, and teach and talk;

Slate and pencil, book and chalk;

Were ever at her finger ends—

I wonder she had any friends.

Indeed, she hadn’t many there,

Except the good girls round her chair.

They seemed to think her very nice;

I wished they’d taken my advice,

And never mind a word she said;

They soon would found, what motive led

Her to appear so sweet to them,

And that she wasn’t such a gem.

She had a special spite at me,The reason why I couldn’t see;She’d scold me soundly every day,Whether I would work or play;And then she’d often keep me in,For just a little bit of sin,That no one else would scarcely see—She was just as mean as mean could be.

She had a special spite at me,

The reason why I couldn’t see;

She’d scold me soundly every day,

Whether I would work or play;

And then she’d often keep me in,

For just a little bit of sin,

That no one else would scarcely see—

She was just as mean as mean could be.

If it hadn’t been for family pride,I think I’d left that school or died;But aunty thought it best to stay,And she nearly always had her way.So there I was for one long year,And then I left without a tear.I’d learned to read and write and spell,Indeed, they said I studied well.My failing was behaving bad,At least that’s what the teacher said;But she was always saying things,And telling tales that trouble brings.I’ve left her class, I’m glad to say—I’ll try a new one now to-day.

If it hadn’t been for family pride,

I think I’d left that school or died;

But aunty thought it best to stay,

And she nearly always had her way.

So there I was for one long year,

And then I left without a tear.

I’d learned to read and write and spell,

Indeed, they said I studied well.

My failing was behaving bad,

At least that’s what the teacher said;

But she was always saying things,

And telling tales that trouble brings.

I’ve left her class, I’m glad to say—

I’ll try a new one now to-day.

Alas, a-lack-a-day—ah! me,I fear we too will disagree;There’s much that’s new I want to know,And ask the girls if they will showExactly how the things are done,Besides we want a little fun,Just to cheer us as we learn—The teachers are so stiff and stern,I wouldn’t be one for a farm—They do the children so much harm;Though aunty said to-night at teaThat’s what she’s going to make of me.I don’t know what I’ve ever doneTo her, indeed to any one,That I should suffer such a fate,Or learn a trade I love to hate.

Alas, a-lack-a-day—ah! me,

I fear we too will disagree;

There’s much that’s new I want to know,

And ask the girls if they will show

Exactly how the things are done,

Besides we want a little fun,

Just to cheer us as we learn—

The teachers are so stiff and stern,

I wouldn’t be one for a farm—

They do the children so much harm;

Though aunty said to-night at tea

That’s what she’s going to make of me.

I don’t know what I’ve ever done

To her, indeed to any one,

That I should suffer such a fate,

Or learn a trade I love to hate.

I tell you what, when I get big,You’ll see me dance a different jig;I won’t be sober, staid, and stern,And try to make the children learn.Poor little things, I’ll let them be,Remembering how it was with me.Just worry, lecture, preach, and scold,Enough to make a young one old.At school and home I had no rest,Was always getting blamed or blest,And mostly too without a cause,Just for breaking little laws,That never should, by rights, been made,Nor never would by Bessie’s aid.

I tell you what, when I get big,

You’ll see me dance a different jig;

I won’t be sober, staid, and stern,

And try to make the children learn.

Poor little things, I’ll let them be,

Remembering how it was with me.

Just worry, lecture, preach, and scold,

Enough to make a young one old.

At school and home I had no rest,

Was always getting blamed or blest,

And mostly too without a cause,

Just for breaking little laws,

That never should, by rights, been made,

Nor never would by Bessie’s aid.

So, thus my early life was spent,From class to class I yearly went;Each teacher seemed to be my foe,And quite content to have me go;But still I had my share of fun,In spite of all the scolding done.In tricks and pranks I took delight,And misbehaved with all my might;In tact and lessons I excelled,Or I should long since been expelled.The merits that I got to-dayTo-morrow’s marks would wipe away.

So, thus my early life was spent,

From class to class I yearly went;

Each teacher seemed to be my foe,

And quite content to have me go;

But still I had my share of fun,

In spite of all the scolding done.

In tricks and pranks I took delight,

And misbehaved with all my might;

In tact and lessons I excelled,

Or I should long since been expelled.

The merits that I got to-day

To-morrow’s marks would wipe away.

But, at the end of every term,Remorse and resolution firmWould fill me with a new desire;But “all the fat was in the fire”The minute mischief crossed my way,Which it, alas! did every day.

But, at the end of every term,

Remorse and resolution firm

Would fill me with a new desire;

But “all the fat was in the fire”

The minute mischief crossed my way,

Which it, alas! did every day.

Thus school life, with its hopes and fears—At least the first short seven years—Was drawing nearly to a close,When, all at once, the question rose—What should next be done with me.The teachers gladly did agree,That I should try my luck and leave—The high-school might my name retrieve.So I studied hard, both night and day,(But leisure took for fun and play),Till testing time, with questions hard,Brought me my happy hope’s reward.I did not pass with honors high—I guess you know the reason why;But still I passed, and was content,And to my laurels proudly went,And talked as big and looked as wiseAs those that got the highest prize;And felt it was a happy school,Possessing such a precious jewel.

Thus school life, with its hopes and fears—

At least the first short seven years—

Was drawing nearly to a close,

When, all at once, the question rose—

What should next be done with me.

The teachers gladly did agree,

That I should try my luck and leave—

The high-school might my name retrieve.

So I studied hard, both night and day,

(But leisure took for fun and play),

Till testing time, with questions hard,

Brought me my happy hope’s reward.

I did not pass with honors high—

I guess you know the reason why;

But still I passed, and was content,

And to my laurels proudly went,

And talked as big and looked as wise

As those that got the highest prize;

And felt it was a happy school,

Possessing such a precious jewel.

So, at the age of green fourteen,I felt as proud as any queen.A new leaf I resolved to turn,And study hard and laurels earn;I stood quite high for one so young,And could I only held my tongueI might have been almost a star,But mischief would my merits mar;For what I gained by work and tact,I’d loose by some rebellious act:I sacrificed myself to fun—My ablest efforts were undoneBy some wild freak or fractured rule,That put me down a dot in school.

So, at the age of green fourteen,

I felt as proud as any queen.

A new leaf I resolved to turn,

And study hard and laurels earn;

I stood quite high for one so young,

And could I only held my tongue

I might have been almost a star,

But mischief would my merits mar;

For what I gained by work and tact,

I’d loose by some rebellious act:

I sacrificed myself to fun—

My ablest efforts were undone

By some wild freak or fractured rule,

That put me down a dot in school.

I soon began, as heretofore,To find the teachers quite a bore,In interfering all the time—Indeed it seems a chronic crime,To be officious and preventThe pleasures that were my intent.They so delight in being dryAnd dull and stiff. I wonder why?They looked with frowning doubt and dreadOn every thing I did and said.At times they’d give a sickly smileAt my peculiar wayward style;But in a moment they would beA-pointing morals all at me.

I soon began, as heretofore,

To find the teachers quite a bore,

In interfering all the time—

Indeed it seems a chronic crime,

To be officious and prevent

The pleasures that were my intent.

They so delight in being dry

And dull and stiff. I wonder why?

They looked with frowning doubt and dread

On every thing I did and said.

At times they’d give a sickly smile

At my peculiar wayward style;

But in a moment they would be

A-pointing morals all at me.

As we were taught full forty things,With names as long as corset strings,And teachers stern and dignified,I future punishment denied.I felt we had our troubles here,And naught to come was aught to fear.

As we were taught full forty things,

With names as long as corset strings,

And teachers stern and dignified,

I future punishment denied.

I felt we had our troubles here,

And naught to come was aught to fear.

Away into the quiet nightI’d pore and ponder by the lightThat poets call the “midnight oil,”Some crooked problem to uncoil,Or draw a map, or parse a verse,Or write an essay, which was worse,Or worry with celestial globes—The very thought my bosom probesWith recollections full of woe.What good is it for us to knowThat Mars has belts or Saturn rings—A thousand other different things?That don’t concern this world at all,Nor never have since Adam’s fall.

Away into the quiet night

I’d pore and ponder by the light

That poets call the “midnight oil,”

Some crooked problem to uncoil,

Or draw a map, or parse a verse,

Or write an essay, which was worse,

Or worry with celestial globes—

The very thought my bosom probes

With recollections full of woe.

What good is it for us to know

That Mars has belts or Saturn rings—

A thousand other different things?

That don’t concern this world at all,

Nor never have since Adam’s fall.

Then scanning Milton through and throughIs what I did despise to do;Nor did I care a single dimeIf all his blank verse had been rhyme,Or was awry or wrong in rhythm,Or had it been with him—in Heaven.That Paradise was lost I knew—I never doubted it was true;Then why extend the dreary tale,To worry pupils—maid and male?Mythology and classic loreIs such an everlasting bore.

Then scanning Milton through and through

Is what I did despise to do;

Nor did I care a single dime

If all his blank verse had been rhyme,

Or was awry or wrong in rhythm,

Or had it been with him—in Heaven.

That Paradise was lost I knew—

I never doubted it was true;

Then why extend the dreary tale,

To worry pupils—maid and male?

Mythology and classic lore

Is such an everlasting bore.

The other poets we’d dissect,And try their metre to correct—And murder many of their laysSo sadly that it would amazeThe sainted soul, could it but knowThe scandalous scanning done below!

The other poets we’d dissect,

And try their metre to correct—

And murder many of their lays

So sadly that it would amaze

The sainted soul, could it but know

The scandalous scanning done below!

Then algebra, withxandz,Would always vex and puzzle me,And make me wish that each equationWas in the sea, with mensuration.I’d sigh and cipher for an hour,And long for calculating powerTo get the cube root or the square,Or puzzle out the proper shareThat A and B would have to getIn value either gross or net.

Then algebra, withxandz,

Would always vex and puzzle me,

And make me wish that each equation

Was in the sea, with mensuration.

I’d sigh and cipher for an hour,

And long for calculating power

To get the cube root or the square,

Or puzzle out the proper share

That A and B would have to get

In value either gross or net.

Then hunting rivers, lakes, and bays,And telling all their different waysOf rising, flowing, and their end,Or with what waters they may blend;And all their lengths and widths and size,And what each state or town supplies,Of products, imports, exports, oresThat yearly pass its special shores.

Then hunting rivers, lakes, and bays,

And telling all their different ways

Of rising, flowing, and their end,

Or with what waters they may blend;

And all their lengths and widths and size,

And what each state or town supplies,

Of products, imports, exports, ores

That yearly pass its special shores.

Ah me! the mountains I would climbTo find the height, and what a timeI’ve had with longitudes and poles,Enough to try poor pupils’ souls—And tropics, latitudes, and zones,That gave me geographic groans.And then we had to daily tellThe capitals and towns as well,Of territories and of states,And give in full the different datesOf settlements and civil wars,And then we’d have five minutes pause,Before our history began.Thus our daily duties ran.

Ah me! the mountains I would climb

To find the height, and what a time

I’ve had with longitudes and poles,

Enough to try poor pupils’ souls—

And tropics, latitudes, and zones,

That gave me geographic groans.

And then we had to daily tell

The capitals and towns as well,

Of territories and of states,

And give in full the different dates

Of settlements and civil wars,

And then we’d have five minutes pause,

Before our history began.

Thus our daily duties ran.

We never knew an hour’s peace;For if we weren’t in Rome or Greece,Discussing troubles old and stale,Some insurrection to bewail,We’d have our massacres at home,To fill our hearts with bygone gloom,Rebellions, riots, rows, and wars,Breaking all the country’s laws;But then that was so long ago,I hardly think we need to knowAll those troubles that are past,It’s bad enough to know the last.

We never knew an hour’s peace;

For if we weren’t in Rome or Greece,

Discussing troubles old and stale,

Some insurrection to bewail,

We’d have our massacres at home,

To fill our hearts with bygone gloom,

Rebellions, riots, rows, and wars,

Breaking all the country’s laws;

But then that was so long ago,

I hardly think we need to know

All those troubles that are past,

It’s bad enough to know the last.

And then I think it’s really vileTo take us through the British isle,And worry o’er her wars and woes,Her usurpations, overthrows,Her kings and queens both killed and crowned.We’ll never get a single pound,For all our interest in their fate,No matter how large their estate.

And then I think it’s really vile

To take us through the British isle,

And worry o’er her wars and woes,

Her usurpations, overthrows,

Her kings and queens both killed and crowned.

We’ll never get a single pound,

For all our interest in their fate,

No matter how large their estate.

I’m tired now of history.I’ve learned it all, and can not seeWhy we have to know so muchAbout the English, French, and Dutch,And all these men of ancient times,Their virtue, valor, and their crimes.We have as many of to-dayAs we can well their traits portray.Then why go back to ages pastTo get our heroes for a cast?Or worry o’er the wars of yore,When we can have them at our door,Green and fresh, of recent date,In our own land, indeed our state?

I’m tired now of history.

I’ve learned it all, and can not see

Why we have to know so much

About the English, French, and Dutch,

And all these men of ancient times,

Their virtue, valor, and their crimes.

We have as many of to-day

As we can well their traits portray.

Then why go back to ages past

To get our heroes for a cast?

Or worry o’er the wars of yore,

When we can have them at our door,

Green and fresh, of recent date,

In our own land, indeed our state?

What trials teachers do invent.They never seem to be contentWithout a torture of some kindTo agitate the pupil’s mind.And as for rest or idle hours,The very thought their temper sours.But study early, study late,Things you like and things you hate;Study hard and study long,Whether you are weak or strong.

What trials teachers do invent.

They never seem to be content

Without a torture of some kind

To agitate the pupil’s mind.

And as for rest or idle hours,

The very thought their temper sours.

But study early, study late,

Things you like and things you hate;

Study hard and study long,

Whether you are weak or strong.

I tried my best to keep my brainHealthy, sound, and free from pain;I never had it suffer aughtFrom exercise of weighty thought.All extra care and overwork,My great ambition was to shirk;To save the tissues of my mind,I’ve always been somewhat inclined!I’d study just to struggle through,But not enough to make me blue,Nor any recreation miss,Which now I think accounts for thisEntire health which is my boast,That over study might have lost.

I tried my best to keep my brain

Healthy, sound, and free from pain;

I never had it suffer aught

From exercise of weighty thought.

All extra care and overwork,

My great ambition was to shirk;

To save the tissues of my mind,

I’ve always been somewhat inclined!

I’d study just to struggle through,

But not enough to make me blue,

Nor any recreation miss,

Which now I think accounts for this

Entire health which is my boast,

That over study might have lost.

In moderation thus I wentFrom grade to grade, and was content.In tricks and trifling, mirth and fun,Was always passing number one.The teachers vexed at every turn,And wanting me to leave or learn,Would often help me gladly throughTheir special class into a new,Thus hoping then and there to findMore occupation for my mind,And for themselves relief and rest.How little my adieus distressed;For those bereft of such a prizeLooked coolly on with driest eyes!

In moderation thus I went

From grade to grade, and was content.

In tricks and trifling, mirth and fun,

Was always passing number one.

The teachers vexed at every turn,

And wanting me to leave or learn,

Would often help me gladly through

Their special class into a new,

Thus hoping then and there to find

More occupation for my mind,

And for themselves relief and rest.

How little my adieus distressed;

For those bereft of such a prize

Looked coolly on with driest eyes!

Once or twice I skipped a grade,And cast the good girls in the shade,Thus rid that teacher most entireOf all the mischief I’d inspire;’Twas less in learning than in luck,Together with my tact and pluck,That helped me prematurely through,But that is nothing odd or new.

Once or twice I skipped a grade,

And cast the good girls in the shade,

Thus rid that teacher most entire

Of all the mischief I’d inspire;

’Twas less in learning than in luck,

Together with my tact and pluck,

That helped me prematurely through,

But that is nothing odd or new.

I gushed as much at my advanceAs though it was no game of chance,And never hinted in the least,As honors on me so increased,’Twas troubled teachers pushing meTo get me through thus rapidly.

I gushed as much at my advance

As though it was no game of chance,

And never hinted in the least,

As honors on me so increased,

’Twas troubled teachers pushing me

To get me through thus rapidly.

So thus, for two years and a half—I think of it, and have to laugh—I spent the chequered, closing daysOf school life, with its blame and praise,Till all at once the president,On my departure firmly bent,Informed me I must now beginMy graduating bays to win.He seemed quite glad to have me leave,Indeed, there’s no one seemed to grieveAbout my going at this date,So I resolved to graduate.

So thus, for two years and a half—

I think of it, and have to laugh—

I spent the chequered, closing days

Of school life, with its blame and praise,

Till all at once the president,

On my departure firmly bent,

Informed me I must now begin

My graduating bays to win.

He seemed quite glad to have me leave,

Indeed, there’s no one seemed to grieve

About my going at this date,

So I resolved to graduate.

My parting essay now I write,And try sad feelings to excite.I use the most pathetic strain,As though I’d willingly remainTo share those sweet scholastic joysThat leaving school at once destroys.I tried to make their bosoms sighFor blessings now about to fly.

My parting essay now I write,

And try sad feelings to excite.

I use the most pathetic strain,

As though I’d willingly remain

To share those sweet scholastic joys

That leaving school at once destroys.

I tried to make their bosoms sigh

For blessings now about to fly.

But, ah! alas, what cool contentMy phrases to their faces lent!I sadly spoke of happy scenesOf school life, with its hopes and dreams,Of patient teachers, just and kind,And wondered if we’d ever findIn life again, such friends as these,(And, aside, I thought) as hard to please.

But, ah! alas, what cool content

My phrases to their faces lent!

I sadly spoke of happy scenes

Of school life, with its hopes and dreams,

Of patient teachers, just and kind,

And wondered if we’d ever find

In life again, such friends as these,

(And, aside, I thought) as hard to please.

I really felt it was a timeWhen I should utter thoughts sublime,But no one seemed to be disposedTo feel the slightest discomposed;Nor could I hear a sob or sigh,Or see a single moistened eye!

I really felt it was a time

When I should utter thoughts sublime,

But no one seemed to be disposed

To feel the slightest discomposed;

Nor could I hear a sob or sigh,

Or see a single moistened eye!

Each teacher that I left behindSeemed reconciled and well resignedTo hear my valedictory read,And every parting word I saidGave pleasure, I could plainly see,To all the high-school faculty.

Each teacher that I left behind

Seemed reconciled and well resigned

To hear my valedictory read,

And every parting word I said

Gave pleasure, I could plainly see,

To all the high-school faculty.

That day in June I’ll ne’er forget,Their happy faces haunt me yet.So eager, anxious, and content,To lose a light, ’twas only lent.I felt their hearts were made of stone,To be so glad when I was gone.Our president, so mild and meek,So happy was, he scarce could speak;He said mywelfarewas his aim,But now myfarewellwas the same!So I hurriedly my parchment drew,And bid thehappyschool adieu.

That day in June I’ll ne’er forget,

Their happy faces haunt me yet.

So eager, anxious, and content,

To lose a light, ’twas only lent.

I felt their hearts were made of stone,

To be so glad when I was gone.

Our president, so mild and meek,

So happy was, he scarce could speak;

He said mywelfarewas his aim,

But now myfarewellwas the same!

So I hurriedly my parchment drew,

And bid thehappyschool adieu.

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