o Bozzaris while bleeding at all of his veins;
And a boy on the floor to be punished, a statue of idleness stood,
Making faces at all of the others, and enjoying the scene all he could.

II

Around were the walls, gray and dingy, which every old school-sanctum hath,
With many a break on their surface, where grinned a wood-grating of lath.
A patch of thick plaster, just over the school-master's rickety chair,
Seemed threat'ningly o'er him suspended, like Damocles' sword, by a hair.
There were tracks on the desks where the knife-blades had wandered in
search of their prey;
Their tops were as duskily spattered as if they drank ink every day.
The square stove it puffed and it crackled, and broke out in red flaming
sores,
Till the great iron quadruped trembled like a dog fierce to rush
out-o'-doors.
White snowflakes looked in at the windows; the gale pressed its lips to the
cracks;
And the children's hot faces were streaming, the while they were freezing
their backs.

III

Now Marco Bozzaris had fallen, and all of his suff'rings were o'er,
And the class to their seats were retreating, when footsteps were heard
at the door;
And five of the good district fathers marched into the room in a row,
And stood themselves up by the fire, and shook off their white cloaks of
snow.
And the spokesman, a grave squire of sixty, with countenance solemnly sad,
Spoke thus, while the children all listened, with all of the ears that
they had:
"We've come here, school-master, in-tendin' to cast an inquirin' eye
'round,
Concernin' complaints that's been entered, an' fault that has lately been
found;
To pace off the width of your doin's, an' witness what you've been about,
An' see if it's paying to keep you, or whether we'd best turn ye out.

"The first thing I'm bid for to mention is, when the class gets up to read
You give 'em too tight of a reinin', an' touch 'em up more than they need;
You're nicer than wise in the matter of holdin' the book in one han',
An' you turn a stray _g_ in their _doin's_, an' tack an odd _d_
on their _an'_;
There ain't no great good comes of speakin' the words so polite, as I see,
Providin' you know what the facts is, an' tell 'em off jest as they be.
An' then there's that readin' in corncert, is censured from first unto
last;
It kicks up a heap of a racket, when folks is a-travelin' past.
Whatever is done as to readin', providin'