Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1910-08-31
Ana the festive shrons BY the hunting ars

49, ASc~>sV s3s03B W tnc oo0b188 uI8
Where the chass-sons ioyousiy sounded"
These were what the boys and girls
called "good times', for they had few out
inss nifty years ago, such ~ the young
people OF to-day have. They really en-
toyed the recitations and compositions,
and at times got no little fun out of the
fact that an opportunity presented itself
to raise isugh at the expense Of . school
mate or, what was better still, to get
ahead Of the teacher "by hook or by
crook.
In one Of the old academies in New
England 1t was the custom for the boys to
declaim one Wednesday, and the next, to
read composition. There was one wag
whol never wrote anything, but always
spoke piece, - they said. Ono day it
dawned upon the teacher that such was
the case. Tho young man was delivering
Sprague's nne prose: '0The Indian As He
Was and Al He Isl"
mot many generations ago. where you now
ait, encircied By all that exalts and en-
bel;ishcs civilized life, the rank thistle
nodded in the wind and the wild fox dug his
hole unscared. Here lived and loved an
other race Of beings. Beneath the same sun
that rolls over your heads, the Indian hunter
pursued the painting deer. Beneath the
same moon that smiles for you, the Indian
lover wooed his dusky mate.
But this paragraph was ali he was
allowed to give. He was sent to his seat
with the EDMONTON that he would soon
be called upon to read composition. In
due time the young man was asked to
como forward. He ascsnded the platform
with evident satisfaction, and with con-
siderable JUNCTION said in loud voice:
Competitions are hard and tough,
Write two lines and that's enough
when with an elaborate bow he retired,
much to the amusement Of the preceptor
and the whole school, and the scholars
felt that the wag had the best OF it.
Those who used the Towns Third Read
OF will remember 1.-THE Blackberry Grip:
"Why, Phebe, have you come so soon.
Where are your berries, chiids
You cannot sure have sold them all;
You had basket piled"
Also:
From bank to valley leaping,
And BY Its sunny margin lay
A lovely infant sleeping"
And ''The Land OF Our Birth:
There Is not . spot In the wide peopled
earth
80 dear TO our heart - the land OF our birth;
IT'S the home OF our chiidhood-the beautiful
spot,
Which memory retains when oil else 10 for
got"
In the early sixties Mr.. Town published
in connection with Nelson N. Holbrook
''Ths Progressive Series OF Readers"
which soon became 80 popular. A few
selections from these books are ~ fol-
lows:
1.-THE Laborer," by Gallagher:
"stsnd up erect! Thou hast the form
And likeness Of thy God! Who nores
A soul - dauntless mid the storm
OF daily life, . heart ~ warm
And pure - breast e'er wore"
sThe Cold Water Man." by John G..
SAKE, was always enjoyed because Of its
jolly rhythm and such pointed puns - no
one but SAKE could write. The boys Of
the olden time always commended that he
was "the greatest OF all poets", and no
wonder they liked the Jingle Of his
rhymes:
at was an honest fisherman;
knew him passing well.
And he lived by little pond
within . little dell.
Agrave and quiet man was he
Who loved his hook and rod;
90 even ran his line Of life
His neigh ors thought 1t odd.
For science and for books, he said,
He never had . wish;
No school to him WAS worth dg,
Except school Of nsh."
Another selection was Goldsmith's
''Deserted Village:
"sweet Auburnl loveliest village Of the plain,
Where health aud plenty cheered the labor
swain.
where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting summers lingering blooms de-
lsyed."
1.-THE River"
River! River! Little River!
Bright you sparkle on your way.
Der the yellow pebbles dancing
Through the flowers and foliage glancing
Like child ut play.
Riverl River! swelling River!
On you rush, DER rough and smooth,
Louder, faster, brawling. leaping,
Over rocks, by rose banks sweeping,
Like impetuous youth.
q. w. Cutters "Song OF Steam" was SO
well liked that nearly all Of the pupils
knew it by heart and loved to read:
Harness me down with your iron bands.
Be sure Of your curb and RENT
For scorn the power Of your puny hands,
A the tempest scorns the chain!
How laughed, rs I lay concealed from sight
For many countless hour,
Al the childish boast Of human might,
And the pride Of human power!
In going through all the different
editions of Mr.. Towns old books, which
have been found scattered north and