THE WRITING MASTER.

“Oh, Tommy, this is very bad,”
Said solemn Mr. Fink,

Upon your nice new copy book,
You've made a blot of ink.

You have not copied what I set,
But scribbled on the page,
Why little Arthur does as well,
Who 1s not half your age.

He never draws between the lines
Long straggling tails of kites,
Nor places crowing cocks upon

The capitals he writes.