In the schoolroom the boys
All heard a great noise.
Charles Moore had just finish'd his writing,
So ran out to play,
And saw a sad fray:—
Tom Bell and John Wilson were fighting.
He cried, "Let's be gone,
Oh, come away, John,
We want you to stand at the wicket;
And you, Master Bell,
We want you as well,
For we're all of us going to cricket.
"Our playmates, no doubt,
Will shortly be out,
For you know that at twelve study ceases;
And you'll find better fun
In play, ten to one,
Than in knocking each other to pieces."
THE GOOD SCHOLAR
Joseph West had been told,
That if, when he grew old,
He had not learned rightly to spell,
Though his writing were good,
'Twould not be understood:
And Joe said, "I will learn my task well."
And he made it a rule
To be silent at school,
And what do you think came to pass?
Why, he learnt it so fast,
That from being the last,
He soon was the first in the class.