Jean Blewett: Verses about School

One lesson let us bear in mind-
Be very gentle with our own,
Be to their faults a little blind,
Nor wound them by a look or tone.

Put self behind! turn tender eyes;
Keep back the words that hurt and sting;
We learn, when sorrow makes us wise,
Forbearance is the grandest thing.

Be patient lest some day we turn
Our eyes on loved one fast asleep,
And whisper, as we lean and yearn,
'How often I have made you weep!

'Some loved you not and words let fall
That must have pierced your gentle breast,
But I, who loved you best of all,
Hurt you far more than all the rest.'

One lesson let us keep in mind-
To hold our dear ones close and fast,
Since loyal hearts are hard to find,
And life and love so soon are past.

I was the slyest boy at home,
The slyest boy at school,
I wanted all the world to know
That I was no one's fool.

I kept my childish hopes and schemes
Locked closely in my breast,
No single secret shared with Bob,
The chum I liked the best.

I never showed my squirrel's nest,
Nor beaver dam, nor cave,
Nor fortress where I used to go
To be a soldier brave.

Oh, I was sly, just awful sly,
In winter, summer, spring,
While Bob would tell me all he knew,
I never told a thing.

And yet Bob always got ahead;
I'd find the careless knave
Asleep within my fortress walls,
And fishing in my cave.

'What, yours!' he said, in great surprise,
'You should have told me so.
You never said a word, old chum,
And how was I to know?'

My slyness hurt more than it helped;
If Bob had known, you see,
He was too kind to do his best
To get ahead of me.

I still was sly when I grew up.
I fell in love with Nan,
But scorned to own it to myself
Or any other man.

So sly was I, Nan never guessed-
No more did handsome Bob-
That every time she looked my way
My heart, it stirred and throbbed.

The same old story! Ere I knew,
My chum had loved and won.
When I explained I'd picked her out
To be my very own,

'What, yours!' he said in great surprise,
'You should have told me so.
You never said a word, old chum,
And how was I to know?'

I've learned my lesson, lost my girl;
You'll own 'tis rather rough.
Henceforward I'll not be too sly-
I'll be just sly enough.

The teacher was wise and learned, I wis,
All nonsense she held in scorning,
But you never can tell what the primmest miss
Will do of a bright spring morning.

What this one did was to spread a snare
For feet of a youth unheeding,
As March, with a meek and lamb-like air,
To its very last hour was speeding.

Oh, he was the dullard of his class,
For how can a youth get learning
With his eyes aye fixed on a pretty lass
And his heart aye filled with yearning?

'Who finds 'mong the rushes which fringe a pool,'
She told him, 'the first wind blossom,
May wish what he will'-poor April fool,
With but one wish in his bosom.

Her gray eyes danced-on a wild-goose chase
He'd sally forth on the morrow,
And, later, she'd laugh in his sombre face,
And jest at his words of sorrow.

But penitence and a troubled mind
Were fruits of the night's reflection;
After all, he was simple, and strong, and kind-
'Twas wrong to flout his affection.

They met on the hill as she walked to school;
He said, unheeding her blushes,
'Here's the early flower your April fool
Found growing among the rushes.

'Take it or leave it as you will'-
His voice ringing out so clearly
Awoke in her heart a happy thrill-
'You know that I love you dearly.'

Day-dreams indulged as she taught the school
Held lovers kneeling and suing;
'Take it or leave it'-her April fool
Was masterful in his wooing.

He gave her the flower-she gave him a kiss-
His suit she had long been scorning;
But you never can tell what the primmest miss
Will do of a bright spring morning.

I asked Aunt Persis yester-eve, as twilight fell,
If she had things of value hidden safe away-
Treasures that were her very own? And did she love
To bring them forth, and feast her eyes upon their worth,
And finger them with all a miser's greed of touch?

She smiled that slow, warm smile of hers, and drew me down
Beside her in the inglenook. The rain beat hard
Against the panes, without the world was doubly gray
With twilight and with cloud. The room was full of shade
Till Persis stirred the slumbering grate fire wide awake,
And made it send its flickering shafts of light into
Each corner dim-gay shafts that chased the shadows forth
And took their place, then stole away and let
The shadow back, and then gave chase again,
The maddest and the stillest game!

To music of
The raindrops on the pane, and wind that softly shrilled
About the eaves, the treasure box was opened wide
And its contents exposed to the rude gaze of one
Too young, too worldly-wise to know their value great.
I thought to see pearls, corals, quaint, old-fashioned gems,
Or lace like gossamer creamed by the hand of time-
Real treasures worthy of the hoarding.

Lo! I saw
A leather-covered book, a worn and musty thing
With ragged leaves and many marks. 'What is it?' I asked;
'To me it looks the school-book that some stupid child
Has learned its lesson from.'
'And so it is,' she smiled. 'My father's testament,
And at his knee I conned the Golden Rule, and all
The wondrous truths that teach us how to live. 'Tis dear
To me, you may suppose.'

A knot of ribbon that
Had once been blue, a braid of dark brown hair, a spray
Of lily o' the valley, withered, sere, yet holding still a breath
Of sweetness indescribable; some letters tied
With silk, a broken fan, some verses scribbled on
A yellow page, a baby's shoe, more letters, and,
What think you, friend? A string of amber beads, without
A trace of value-beads of glass strung on a bit
Of twine. Aunt Persis took them in her hand and let
The firelight play on them. 'My grandmother's first gift,'
She said, and slipped them round her neck. 'I love them best
Of all my ornaments-each amber bead holds fast
A joy caught in the childhood days of pleasantness,
And when I sit here with the sparkling things held close
The joys they gathered long ago slip from them to
My heart, and ere I know, I am a child once more.

'Treasures! Nay, dear one, in your clear young eyes I see
The disappointment grow-no treasures these, you say;
These faded things, and poor, these musty, ragged things-
But some day in the gloaming of your life you'll ope
Your treasure box, and find a hoard of just such things
As these-a few rare trifles wrapped in memories.'

Joe lives on the farm, and Sam lives in the city,
I haven't a daughter at all-more's the pity,
For girls, to my mind, are much nicer and neater;
Not such workers as boys, but cuter and sweeter.
Sam has prospered in town, has riches a-plenty,
Big house, fine library-books written by Henty,
And Kipling, and Cooper, and all those big writers-
Swell pictures and busts of great heroes and fighters.
His home is a fine one from cellar to garret,
But not to my notion-in fact, I can't bear it.
I'm not hard to please, but of all things provoking
Is a woman around who sniffs when you're smoking.

Last springtime Sam said: 'Now, Father, how is it
I can't coax you oftener up on a visit?'
I couldn't think up any plausible reason,
So off I went with him to stop for a season.
Sam said with a laugh as we stepped from the ferry,
'You won't mind my wife; she's particular, very.'
It wasn't like home, that house in the city,
Our Sam took his fun at the club-more's the pity.

It is in his own house, when he has the leisure,
A man should find comfort and freedom and pleasure.
It wasn't so bad for me in the daytime,
Sam took me all over and made it a playtime;
But evenings were awful-we sat there so proper,
While Sam's wife, if nobody came in to stop her,
Read history to us, or, column by column,
A housekeeping journal, or other dry volume.
I used to wish someone would give me a prodding,
My eyes would go shut and head fall a-nodding.
She's an awful good housewife, nothing gets musty,
Or littered about, or untidy, or dusty;
But a little disorder never did fret me,
And these perfect women they always upset me.
I can stand her dusting, her shining, her poking,
But wilt like a leaf when she sniffs when I'm smoking.

I got so blamed homesick I couldn't be jolly;
I wanted our Joe, and his little wife, Molly,
My old corner at home, and all the old places;
I wanted the youngsters-who cared if their faces
Were smeared up a trifle? I didn't, a penny.
Molly tends to 'em, though she has so many.
I was tickled to death when I got a letter
From Joe, which ran: 'Dear Dad, I think you had better
Get back to the farm in pretty short order.
Molly's papered your room and put on a border;
The baby, she says, has two new teeth to show you-
If you don't hustle back the dear thing won't know you.
She says to inform you that Bob, Sue, and Mary
Are good as can be, but your namesake's contrary,
Wants granddaddy's story, and granddaddy's ditty-
And granddaddy off on a trot to the city.'
I packed my belongings. They tried to dissuade me-
Sam's wife said so proper: 'I'm really afraid we
Have not succeeded in our entertaining.'
'Oh, yes!' said I-some things won't stand much explaining.
She really meant well, but of all things provoking
Is a woman so perfect she sniffs when you're smoking.

I was glad to get home; it made me quite silly
To hear the loud whinny of Starling and Billy;
And here was the farm with its orchards and meadows,
The big maple trees all throwing their shadows,
The stubble-fields yellow, the tall stacks of clover,
The wag of the stub of a tail on old Rover.
And here came dear Mary, her hat on her shoulder,
With Sue trying hard to catch her and hold her;
Here came Tommy and Joe, always foot in their classes,
And Bob, with his features all crumbs and molasses,
Carrying a basin with fishworms and dirt in-
Oh, that scalawag, Bob, I'm morally certain
Is a chip of the old block-it just seemed to strike me
They'd named the boy rightly, for he was so like me-
All laughing and calling: 'Here's grandpa to play with!'
And Bob supplementing: 'And sleep 'ith and stay 'ith!'
And then such a hugging, with Molly behind me,
The tears came so fast that they threatened to blind me.
My heart overflowed with sorrow and pity
For the boy I had left back there in the city.
His lot is a hard one-indeed, I'm not joking-
He lives with a woman who sniffs when he's smoking.

The supper we had, sir, and when it was over
The walk round the homestead close followed by Rover,
Who's most like a human. You'd fancy him saying:
'See those stacks? Oh, yes, we have finished the haying!
That colt should be broken. Old friend, I'd just mention
This farm stands in need of our closest attention.'
And when, the lamp lighted, with Mary's beside me,
The boys at my feet, and Bob up astride me,
I felt like a king-I really can't write it-
Molly must take my pipe and fill it and light it,
Then plump herself down in her own little rocker
For a visit with me. Oh, she is a talker
Worth the listening to. The threshing was over,
Joe had got ten dollars a ton for the clover,
Deacon Hope had had a sharp tiff with the preacher
Over immersion, and the pretty school-teacher
Intended to marry-resigned her position.
Yes, most of the church folks had signed the petition
Against granting a license to Baker's saloon,
The Thanksgiving service would be coming on soon,
The neighbors were hearty, had every one missed me-
Right here Molly stood on her tip-toes and kissed me.
Sho! Sam's wife is handsome and cultured and clever,
But she's not the woman that Molly is-never.
Molly's smile is so kind, and her hair is so glossy,
Her brown eyes look at you so sweet and so saucy!
Yes, Joe's richer than Sam, though Joe's but a farmer,
For his home atmosphere is brighter and warmer.
Sam has lots of money, there's no use denying;
Has made himself wealthy, and that without trying;
But what chance has a man-indeed, I'm not joking-
Who lives with a woman who sniffs when he's smoking!