University of Virginia Library

Ye city dames who roll the streets around,
Ye country Joans who till the furrow'd ground,
Around whose board a tribe of noisy brats,
Throng thick as mice in absence of the cats,
If to my school for six short months you'll send 'em,
I'll teach them all I know, and scour and mend 'em,
I neither ask nor wish a moment more,
For all I know, I learn'd in less than four.

Before the Briton left his distant shore,
To drench Columbia's peaceful plains in gore,
When men and things each other understood,
And Bute and North turn'd pale to think of blood,
I had the honour—and in sixty-three,
(A cloudless period, from commotion free)
I also had the honour to sustain
A post of honour, and a post of gain—
Post-Office first—then Commissariate,
As good a chance as any in the state—
For in the first, I frank'd my numerous letters,
And in the last I learn'd to cheat my betters.
Alas! how swiftly flew this age of gold!
Surpassing that by fabling poets told;
To me more dear the storms of Kingly sway,
Than the clear sun-beams of fair Freedom's day.
But thirdly—during this same happy time,
When writing letters was not deem'd a crime,
When no committees prowl'd the streets around,
And whigs and tories no existence found,
It also was my honour'd lot to spend
A leisure hour in writing to a friend.
To every gentleman of any note,
By every opportunity I wrote—
I'll tell you every gentleman of note,
To whom each opportunity I wrote.
Sir William Johnson, Baronet, was one,
A jovial prig, who liv'd on Indian fun;
Hugh Finlay, of Quebec, Esquire, another;
And next Sir John, Sir William's son, or brother;
'Squire Alexander Wallace, and 'squire Hugh,
Both as fine blades as ever wore a shoe;
And then with all those typographic fellows—
With Mills and Hicks, with Goddard, Hall and Sellers,
With Jemmy Rivington, and Robert Bell,
Old Holt, Hugh Gaine, Tim Green, and Edes and Gill,
Good deacon L---, that puritanic fidge,
And “Ebenezer Watson, near the bridge.”

From men like these and books almost as good,
The turtle-fat of intellectual food,
I think my knowledge is so sturdy grown,
That I at length may dare to make it known,
And now declare it to be my intent,
To teach the children of the country gent—
Those little shabby lads, who ne'er before
Stray'd half a mile beyond their father's door;
Give them to know the world as well as me,
And doff their hats to every man they see;
Thus by good fortune they may hope in time,
Up to the top of my renown to climb—
Say half a dozen awkward boys, between
The sprightly years of twelve, and wild fifteen
That blooming season when they first begin
To shew the fruits of father Adam's sin:
That sin, bequeath'd in true paternal grace,
A loving legacy to all his race,
And though we still the inheritance divide,
Yet every one is fully satisfied;
And what is seldom seen in such affairs,
Nor suits nor bickerings disturb the heirs.
For though 'tis said Cain broke poor Abel's pate,
To rob his children of their just estate;
Yet since that day we find no eldest son,
Who claims a double portion for his own.—
Near this great city will my school be plac'd,
A monument of judgment, and of taste;
For health selected—long I search'd around,
At length a spot to suit my mind I found.
Near that white wall which rears its form on high,
Where cold in death the sons of Israel lie,
Forgot each wonted care, the thirst of gain,
The wish of pleasure, and the dread of pain;
O'er whose green graves unthinking mortals tread,
Nor heed the loud monitions of the dead.
Nor can this city boast so sweet an air,
A spot so charming or a view so fair;
What air more fragrant to a christian nose,
Than from the mouldering Hebrew daily flows;
What scene more pleasing to a christian eye
Than where the sons of circumcision lie.
Mere vulgar business does not suit my mind,
Be that to country pedagogues confin'd,
Who to my knowledge take a world of pains,
To beat ideas into children's brains,
Though afterwards I make no kind of doubt,
The boys would give the world to get them out.
And oft I've witness'd with extreme dismay,
A whole clean sheet of paper thrown away
By these vile fellows, who ne'er seem to think,
What vast expense they make of pen and ink.
Far different is my mode; for well I ween,
That all my pupils, those of sense I mean,
Shall in six lines, without incumbrance, put
All their ideas, and my own to boot.
Six children in six months alone I'll bring
To know so much their empty skulls shall ring,
While common schools will take a year or two
To run this wond'rous stock of knowledge through.
In the vast sphere of sentiment refin'd,
Now ranges free as air my active mind,
By English Syntax borne sublime along,
Beyond the boundaries of my mother tongue,
Which I in former correspondence learn'd,
Now cheaply sold, though then so dearly earn'd.
I'll teach the lads, without much toil or trouble,
To make their entries elegantly double;
And if they please, and can so foolish be,
It shall be taught them with propriety;
For 'tis a fact, propriety's a clog
To every man who means to be a rogue.
But when the tedious period has expir'd,
The learned lads will probably be tir'd;
Then to their homes and friends they may repair,
To spend their mighty acquisitions there,
And should they prove industrious six months more,
They'll be as knowing as they were before,
And, if they please, they may retrace the road
Back to my school, and take another load.

Mr. Monier is such a clever man,
He means to state at length his useful plan—
He'll keep a table, bed, and soap and tub,
Wherein the little nasty dogs he'll scrub.
Thus the kind guardian of the pen, who sees
His bristly charge oppress'd with scurf and fleas,
Amid the squeeling gentry takes his stand,
The cob scrubbific waving in his hand,
To each in turn the grateful rub applies,
While grunts of pleasure echo through the sties.

Mrs. Monier is of the Holland breed,
Rather more famous for the dray, than speed;
She ev'ry now and then, from room to room,
Will waddle round, well arm'd with brush and broom,
Breed in the house a most tremendous rout,
And all the dirty matters kick about,
And then, her plans more fully to disclose,
She'll seize the little blockheads by the nose,
Comb out their snarly bristles in a trice,
And clear their numbsculls both from nits and lice.

For five whole days his time he will devote,
But Saturdays he'll let his pupils out,
When where they please the learned lads may go,
And John will never say “Why do ye so?”