It were folly to
expect more in rural districts than a tight box, with benches and
a stove in it. Never-the-less, it is the thing signified more than
its outward seeming that catches and holds the eye upon the country
school-house as you drive past it. You count yourself fortunate if,
mingled with the creaking of the buggy-springs, you hear the hum of
recitation; yet more fortunate if it is recess time, and you can
see the children out at play, the little girls holding to one
another's dress-tails as they solemnly circle to the chant:
"H-yar way gow rand tha malbarry bosh,
Tha malbarry bosh, tha malbarry bosh,
H-yar way gow rand tha malbarry bosh
On a cay-um and frasty marneng."
The boys are at marbles, if it is muddy enough, or one-old-cat, or
pom-pom-peel-away, with the normal percentage of them in reboant
tears - that is to say, one in three.
But even this is not the moment of illumination, when it comes upon
you like a flood how glorious is the land we live in, upon what
sure and certain footing are its institutions, when we know by
spiritual insight that whatsoever be the trial that awaits us, the
people of these United States, we shall be able for it! Yes. We
shall be able for it.
If you would learn the secret of our nation's greatness, take your
stand some winter's morning just before nine o'clock, where you can
overlook a circle of some two or three miles' radius, the center
being the Old Red School-house.
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