Those spelling schools did more in their plain ways For all young folks, than now is done for few, In costly schools, in these progressive days-- And they were common once. West of the Blue, There were five districts that were wont to meet In contest in this most delightful feat. Blue Valley and Deer Creek lay to the north; Each one a ready, lusty vanquisher; And smiling Prairie Gem lay to the south; Raemer Creek on the west, now Herkimer; And Pleasant Ridge, my rural alma mater, In midst of all, and just a trifle greater. When corn was husked and hard farm work was done, The winter evenings long and restless grew; Then country folks would long for that blithe fun That they before from the quaint school house drew. Some teachers then with pupils did contrive To hold a spelling school among the five. And these were founts of pleasure, sparkling, sweet, To which the neighboring schools invited were. The purpose was in spelling them to beat; And therein lay the honors striven for. For those events the spelling book was learned Complete, and bowls of midnight oil were burned. ’Twas wont for parents to pronounce at home Words by the pages to their children then; Until McGuffey’s text by heart was known-- By the whole household, even the hired men. No wonder that we heard old settlers tell: “In those wise days people knew how to spell.” The district that would entertain the rest Of schools, gratis prepared a play program-- Of songs and declamations, the very best, And dialogs in which much laughter ran. Herein, no doubt, young Thespians took part Who through hearty encore obtained their start. Those spelling bees! O, with what rare delight, For weeks ahead we them anticipated! They were the magnets of those winter nights; No storm or cold them e’er obliterated. When those glad nights came, countless faces beamed In country school houses where bright lights gleamed. Altho ’twas long ago, still I recall The happy crowds within those temples wee; And marvel how they could contain them all; But they were all on hand, and so were we. In an old adage you know it is told: “Many gentle sheep go in a small fold.” The old time songs were with much pleasure fraught, When by gray-haired sires or sweet maidens sung; The dialogs oft bursts of laughter brought, As actors new their characters well flung. And ne’er did foot lights play house Booths enfire As wild applause did our young stars inspire. No scroll of Prairie Gem would be complete That not of Mrs. Jeffry’s actors told; Or Cottrell’s pupils invincible and sweet, That oft at bay contending lines did hold: For Golden Valley, where these districts lay, Well knew these folks could ably spell and play.