(The letter 'P at the end of a word should be lightly sounded).

Whilom as newė stories tellen us,
There is a schoolen naméd, Dow Hillus.
So far and wide the schoolen's fame has growne
Where eer the sun does rise there we are knowne.
It isė miles away from any toun
And lofty mountains standė all around:
Full seldom does Apollo ope his eye
To shine upon this realme of Femynye
Instead the mistė always does arise
To hide all beauteous thingės from our eyes

Before the larkė, messager of day,
Saluteth in her song the morning grey,
And fyry Phebus riseth up so bright
That all the orient laugheth with the light,
And with his stremės dryeth in the greves
The silver dropės, hongying on the leeves
Before all this, as we you here do telle
We are awakéd by the rising bell.
From Monday morn to Friday we have classe,
On Saturday a test ; alack, alas !

The week,end after that, passes too soone,
We lie upon the grasse all afternoone.
Our Diamond Jubilee hath fallen this yeere ;
We planned to celebrate it with goode cheere :
With 'Ye Olde Balle',with concert, and with sporte,-
But War, alas! did cut these plannes full short.
Olde boys and girls came up to jubilate
That both schooles welcomed them, we need not state.
We helde our Jointė sportes, in which they ran,
But sprinting left them all so woeful wan
Now wol I stynte of Jubilee a lite,
And of our schoolen,work to you recite.
Full many a stricti teacher have we heere
To see us do our work, and persevere.
Of Englissh we are lothe to say too moche
About our Grammar, Literature and such
So, teacher, mercy on our sore distresse,
Som drope of pitee, thrugh your Gentilnesse
Upon us hard-worked pupiles pray let falle.
Of History now we will make mentióun
For there we aire our own opynioun ;
The dates and factes we have to learnė heere
Slip from our mindes ; all is confused - not clear;
Our slepe, our mete, our drynk is us byraft.
That lene we waxe, and drye as eny shaft

At Geography our teacher gives up hope
That with Trade Windis we will ever cope
If we a map of eny countree make
We do quite fully fivė lessons take
Which makes our poor teacher to despair
And givės her full many a nightėmare.
At Mathematic classes we do stocks
And shares, which often make our brainės rock ;
Upon a night in slepe as we are leyde,
'Tis long we think of problems that were seyde,
For punishments are our detentiośn,
and our poor braines are turnéd up-so-doun.
Bengali speeche and accent are not right,
But our kind teacher pities; our sore plight.
Oure tenses, future, present, past,
Are so moche mixed, they leave her quite aghast.
At Science we with sharpe knives cut up frogges,
Which we on nature walkes finde on the logges.
At cooking class we have the most ė fun,
And to our cooking classes we all run.
The mostė delicious thingės we do cook,
They make your mouthė water as you look !
Now stinte I wol of lessons for a lite.
The foodės which we get in Dow Hillus.
Is goode indeed, and so we make no fuss.
But now, alas ! we have a tale to telle
That willė sadden every heartė welle.
Our sauces, chutneys, pickles, and what-not.
Away from us were took, because one tot

Of chutney feasted moche, and got a peyne,
And soe for days in bed had to remaine,
With hewi yellow - pale as asshen colde;
She was a sorry sightė to byholde
So now without our chutneys, pickles more
We older girls did many months endure
Who couldė ryme in Englissh properly
Our martirdom? forsothe, it am not I.
Sometimes in our classeroom we play agame,
And make a noise, but never take the blame.
A teacher coming up the steps we heere
And scatter right and left, - but are not there.
An empty classė room she soon espies,
And so to find the culprits she then tries

We punished are, and kept back from a show
The teacher stern says, "No, you cannot go
Yet none the less, in spite of punishment,
We laugh and play, and alway are content.
Deare Dow Hillus is moche the best by far
Amonge all schools, and her maydes happy are.
Then, Long Live Dow Hillus, her good renoun ;
May on her Lady Fortune never frown.
So end I myn attempt at poesie,
And God save all our fayrė companye.

(Dow Hill)

BARBARA BARTLETT and WINSOME FINK