Teach you lore not learned in school;
Rule your heart to think no ill,
Rule your temper and your will."

"Gee, that's real poetry, that is!" exclaimed Tom. "Say, your people are
poets, aren't they?"

"Why, I think they are," said Marjorie, "but Father says they're not."

"I'd like a copy of that poem," said Hester, looking very serious.

"All right," said King, catching the witch's glance. "I'll make you a
nice typewritten copy of it to-morrow."

"And now, my royal Sand Piper, is there any more poetic lore for us to
listen to?"

"Aye, my liege Queen, there is one more poem. This is a real poem also,
but it is of the humorous variety. It was composed by the mother of our
royal Sand Witch, and was freely contributed to our paper by that
estimable lady. Methinks she mistook our club for a debating club, and
yet, perhaps not. This may be merely a flight of fancy, such as poets
are very fond of, I am told. I will now read Mrs. Corey's contribution:

"There once was a Debating Club, exceeding wise and great;
On grave and abstruse questions it would eagerly debate.
Its members said: 'We are so wise, ourselves we'll herewith dub
The Great Aristophelean Pythagoristic Club.'
And every night these bigwigs met, and strove with utmost pains
To solve recondite problems that would baffle lesser brains.