FOUR SEASONS OF THE YEAR.

  On March the twenty-first is Spring,
  When little birds begin to sing;
  Begin to build and hatch their brood,
  And carefully provide them food.

  Summer’s the twenty-first of June,
  The cuckoo changes then his tune;
  All nature smiles, the fields look gay,
  The weather’s fair to make the hay.

  September, on the twenty-third,
  When sportsmen mark at ev’ry bird,
  Autumn comes in; the fields are shorn,
  The fruits are ripe; so is the corn.

  Winter’s cold frosts and northern blasts,
  The season is we mention last;
  The date of which in truth we must
  Fix for December—­twenty-first.

FIVE SENSES.

  All human beings must (with birds and beasts)
  To be complete, five senses have at least: 
  The sense of hearing to the ear’s confined;
  The eye, we know, for seeing is design’d;
  The nose to smell an odour sweet or ill;
  The tongue to taste what will the belly fill. 
  The sense of feeling is in every part
  While life gives motion to a beating heart.

THE MASTER’S DAILY ADVICE TO HIS SCHOOL.

  If you’d in wisdom’s ways proceed,
  You intellectual knowledge need. 
  Let science be your guiding star,
  Or from its path you’ll wander far.

  ’Tis science that directs the mind,
  The path of happiness to find. 
  If goodness added is to truth,
  ’Twill bring reward to every youth.

THE GOOD CHILDREN’S MONEY-BOX.

  All pence by the generous deposited here,
  When holidays come I will equally share. 
  Among all good children attending this school,
  I should wish not to find a dunce or a fool. 
  Then listen, all you, who a prize hope to gain,
  Attend to your books, and you’ll not hope in vain.

THE MASTER.

THE COW.

  Come, children, listen to me now,
  And you shall hear about the cow;
  You’ll find her useful, live or dead,
  Whether she’s black, or white, or red.

  When milk-maids milk her morn and night,
  She gives them milk so fresh and white;
  And this, we little children think,
  Is very nice for us to drink.

  The curdled milk they press and squeeze,
  And so they make it into cheese;
  The cream they skim and shake in churns,
  And then it soon to butter turns.

  And when she’s dead, her flesh is good,
  For beef is our true English food;
  But though ’twill make us brave and strong,
  To eat too much we know is wrong.

  Her skin, with lime and bark together,
  The tanner tans, and makes it leather;
  And without that what should we do
  For soles to every boot or shoe?

  The shoemaker cuts it with his knife,
  And bound the tops are by his wife,
  And then he nails it to the last. 
  And after sews it tight and fast.