DUTY OF PARENTS.
Parents should see that their children understand their lessons, and that they commit them perfectly. They will thus both aid and encourage the superintendent and teachers.
A SCHOLAR’S REMEMBRANCE OF THE PIC-NIC OF 1850.
How bright, my dear mother, this sweet summer morning,
Does everything round me appear;
The sun the tall steeples with gold is adorning,
And lights up the skies blue and clear.
All freshly around me the west wind is blowing;
And, mother, I smell the sweet hay
Which was left on the Common from yesterday’s mowing;
How I wish they’d not take it away.
I’m sure ’tis too pleasant of school to
Its tasks this bright day I should hate;
Much better I’d like the fresh air to be drinking,
Than puzzle o’er book and o’er slate.
O if it were Pic-nic to-day, my dear mother,
How happy and gay I should be!
How joyful without any studies to pother,
Away in the woods to roam free.
I’m sorry ’tis over; how great was my
The whole of that beautiful day;
I jumped, and I danced, and I sung without measure,
But ah! it so soon passed away.
How well I remember the time of our starting!
How quick the large cars we did fill!
How screamed the shrill whistle, the signal for parting!
How we flew by town, river, and hill!
We reached the sweet grove which in stillness was
Its numerous guests to receive;
We rested one moment, while we were debating
What wonder we first should achieve.
“Let us make some green wreaths! let us gather
Said some; and they bounded away.
“Let us fill up with music and dancing the hours!”
Said others, more lively and gay.
And soon every part of the wild wood was ringing
With sounds full of mirth and of glee;
Some dizzily high in the free air were swinging,
While others climbed up the tall tree.
When called from our sports, to our dinner we hasted,
And sat on the green grassy ground;
How keenly we relished each morsel we tasted,
While fanned by the soft air around.
Then came a loud summons, the signal for choosing
Our Queen by the mystical ring;
We crowned her with flowers; nor feared her abusing
The honors her station might bring.
We sang some sweet school-songs, and then our loved
With other dear friends who were there,
Told us kindly of Jesus, the Savior and Master;
Of God, and his fatherly care;
Who planted the trees that were waving around us,
And the wild flowers growing below;
Who all our life long with rich blessings had crowned us,
And watched us where’er we might go.
Then, mother, I heard all around me a whisp’ring,
And soon I found out what it meant;
When to hallow our Pic-nic, the sweet rite of christ’ning
Its soft, holy influence lent.