I don't learn any Greeks and Latins yet.

I dig, and read to mamma, and make poetrys for her." "Couldn't you make some for me?
I'm very fond of poetrys," proposed Miss Celia, seeing that this prattle amused the children.
"I guess I couldn't make any now; I made some coming along.

I will say it to you." And, crossing his short legs, the inspired babe half said, half sung the following poem: (1) "Sweet are the flowers of life, Swept o'er my happy days at home; Sweet are the flowers of life When I was a little child.
"Sweet are the flowers of life That I spent with my father at home; Sweet are the flowers of life When children played about the house.
"Sweet are the flowers of life When the lamps are lighted at night; Sweet are the flowers of life When the flowers of summer bloomed.
"Sweet are the flowers of life Dead with the snows of winter; Sweet are the flowers of life When the days of spring come on.
(1) These lines were actually composed by a six-year old child.
"That's all of that one.

I made another one when I digged after the turtle.

I will say that.