Canst smooth the feathers on thy breast,
And drop, forgetful, to thy nest."




A DAY IN THE WOODS.


"School!" said Richard White, to himself; "School! I don't want to go to
school. Why am I sent to school every day? What good is there in learning
grammar, and arithmetic, and geography, and all them things? I don't like
school, and I never did."

"Dick!" called out a voice; and the lad, who had seated himself on a cellar
door, and placed his satchel beside him, looked up, and met the cheerful
face of one of his school-fellows.

"What are you sitting there for, Dick? Don't you hear the school bell?"

"Yes; I hear it, Bill."

"Then get up and come along, or you will be late."

"I don't care if I am. I don't like to go to school."

"You don't?"

"No, indeed. I'd never go to school if I could help it. What's the use of
so much learning? I'm going to a trade as soon as I get old enough; and