To every class we have a School assign'd, Rules for all ranks and food for every mind: Yet one there is, that small regard to rule Or study pays, and still is deem'd a School: That, where a deaf, poor, patient widow sits, And awes some thirty infants as she knits; Infants of humble, busy wives, who pay Some trifling price for freedom through the day: At this good matron's hut the children meet, Who thus becomes the mother of the street: Her room is small they cannot widely stray, - Her threshold high they cannot run away: Though deaf, she sees the rebel-heroes shout, - Though lame, her white rod nimbly walks about; With band of yarn she keeps offenders in, And to her gown the sturdiest rogue can pin: Aided by these, and spells, and tell-tale birds, Her power they dread and reverence her words. To Learning's second seats we now proceed, Where humming students gilded primers read; Or books with letters large and pictures gay, To make their reading but a kind of play - "Reading made easy," so the titles tell; But they who read must first begin to spell: There may be profit in these arts, but still Learning is labour, call it what you will; Upon the youthful mind a heavy load, Nor must we hope to find the royal road. Some will their easy steps to science show, And some to heav'n itself their by-way know; Ah! trust them not,--who fame or bliss would share, Must learn by labour, and must live by care. Another matron, of superior kind, For higher schools prepares the rising mind; Preparatory she her Learning calls, The step first made to colleges and halls. She early sees to what the mind will grow, Nor abler judge of infant-powers I know: She sees what soon the lively will impede, And how the steadier will in turn succeed; Observes the dawn of wisdom, fancy, taste, And knows what parts will wear, and what will waste: She marks the mind too lively, and at once Sees the gay coxcomb and the rattling dunce. Long has she lived, and much she loves to trace Her former pupils, now a lordly race; Whom when she sees rich robes and furs bedeck, She marks the pride which once she strove to check. A Burgess comes, and she remembers well How hard her task to make his worship spell; Cold, selfish, dull, inanimate, unkind, 'Twas but by anger he display'd a mind: Now civil, smiling, complaisant, and gay, The world has worn th' unsocial crust away: That sullen spirit now a softness wears, And, save by fits, e'en dulness disappears: But still the matron can the man behold, Dull, selfish, hard, inanimate, and cold. A Merchant passes,--"Probity and truth, Prudence and patience, mark'd thee from thy youth." Thus she observes, but oft retains her fears For him, who now with name unstain'd appears: Nor hope relinquishes, for one who yet Is lost in error and involved in debt; For latent evil in that heart she found, More open here, but here the core was sound. Various our Day-Schools: here behold we one Empty and still: --the morning duties done,