Anonymous, Tea, a poem — Ichabod Crane
“ From hence the low murmur of his pupil's voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard in a drousy summer's day, like the hum of a bee-hive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice, of the master, in the the tone of menace or command; or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth to say, he was a conscientious man, that ever bore in mind the golden maxim, "Spare the road and the child."—Ichabod Crane's scholars certainly were not spoiled. ”
