to set him to learn a particularly hard and uninteresting piece of poetry, beginning—
"Happy is he
Who, to sweet home retired,
Shuns glory so admired
And to himself lives free;
While he who strives with pride to climb the skies
Falls down with foul disgrace before he dies."
Dickie could not help thinking that the father and mother who were to be his in this beautiful world might have preferred something simple and more affectionate from their little boy than this difficult piece whose last verse was the only one which seemed to Dickie to mean anything in particular. In this verse Dickie was made to remark that he hoped people would say of him, "He died a good old man," which he did not hope, and indeed had never so much as thought of. The poetry, he decided, would have been nicer if it had been more about his father and mother and less about fame and trees and burdens. He felt this so much that he tried to write a poem himself, and got as far as—
"They say there is no other
Can take the place of mother.
I say there is no one I'd rather
See than my father."
But he could not think of any more to say, and besides, he had a haunting idea that the first two lines—which were quite the best—
