AS Brownies rambled 'round one night, A country schoolhouse came in sight; And there they paused awhile to speak About the place, where through the week The scholars came, with smile or whine,

Each morning at the stroke of nine. "This is," said one, "the place, indeed, Where children come to write and read. 'T is here, through rules and rods to suit, The young idea learns to shoot; And here the idler with a grin In nearest neighbor pokes the pin,

Or sighs to break his scribbled slate And spring at once to man's estate. How oft from shades of yonder grove I've viewed at eve the shouting drove As from the door they crowding broke, Like oxen from beneath the yoke."

Another said: "The teacher's chair, The ruler, pen, and birch are there, The blackboard hangs against the wall; The slate's at hand, the books and all. We might go in to read and write And master sums like scholars bright."

The more they talked, the stronger grew The wish to prove how much they knew. From page to page through books to pass And spell the words that tried the class; So through their skill they soon obtained Access to all the room contained.

"I'll play," cried one, "the teacher's part; I know some lessons quite by heart, And every section of the land To me is plain as open hand." "With all respect, my friend, to you," Another said, "that would not do. You're hardly fitted, sir, to rule;

Your place should be the dunce's stool. You're not with great endowments blessed; Besides, your temper's not the best, And those who train the budding mind Should own a disposition kind. The rod looks better on the tree Than resting by the master's knee; I'll be the teacher, if you please; I know the rivers, lakes, and seas, And, like a banker's clerk, can throw The figures nimbly in a row. I have the patience, love, and grace, So requisite in such a case."