Page 32
TO "MATTY":
Once upon a time, in your school-days long ago,
You met, no doubt, a little boy who to the school did go.
He did not wish to go to school, but this he must, of course;
He did not think of lessons there, but dreamed he rode a horse;
He thought about the holidays, the country, and the seas,
When 4 o'clock would come around what boys he next would tease—
Until the teacher cried "John M—, just parse the verb 'to be.'
"'To be,' said John, now quite alert (his day-dreams had to flee),
"'To be ' is transitive active, sir, and always so must be."
And then he thinks it quite unjust and why he cannot see,
When from the teacher he receives a painful one, two, three;
And says, when to his seat he's back, "He was unfair to me."
And then when spelling-time comes round, and teacher rattles on so fast
He happens just to slip a word, and puts in "cask" for "cast."
And then again he puts a "g" where "q" has right to stand,
And so once more he feels the weight of teacher's powerful hand.
And sums! Alas, the teacher's anger now is waxed,
And when John puts a "3" for "2," he is most sorely vexed.
Spite of canings, and of strappings, and of endless keepings late,
He enjoys his old school-teacher, loves him almost as a mate;
And at last with fortune's blessing, when be's mounted up the stile,
Leaves his dear old haunts of boyhood for this British Southern Isle.
Times have changed, and now in Kaikorai he the first assistant is,
Teaching boys and girls that love him spite the passions that are his.
Now 'tis his turn to rattle on when our history he dictates,
And cane us when in spelling-time we make a few mistakes.
As a rule he's very patient, often likes to crack a joke.
Laughs and smiles and gives us freedom; but sometimes when things provoke,
Passion takes a hold, and anger darts from out of fiery eyes,
And with canings, threatenings, strappings quells our faults that will arise.
Six-foot-one his height, he stated; fourteen stone his weight, he'll tell,
And when temper loses anchor heavy is his hand as well;
At such times as these his memory fails to act in decent ways,
How much better were the children in his early schoolboy days!
Time has blotted out the badness that his history contains.
And the goodness of his childhood in his memory still remains.
Angry words and heated passions in day's work call a halt,
And in hearts that plead for justice breed a reason for revolt.
At such troublous times we mourn for the "golden days" just past,
When with discipline and justice the long happy hours did last;
But in spite of all his doings he's not really very bad—
With his pleasant homely manner he's the best we've ever had;
And if you should chance to meet him this old friend I'm sure was thine.
Just to show him how we love him read to him this simple rhyme.
EX-PUPIL.