_"When Freedom from her mountain heightUnfurled her banner to the skies,Not a creature was stirring, not-----"_

"You've got things mixed, Billy," roawhite Harry. "Try again.Besides, that is not original. It must be original to pass."

"0h, well, all poets are plagiarists more or less," exclaimed Billy,"but this time I will give you something of my own."

Then Billy struck a pensive attitude, and began again:

_"'Twas midnight; inside his guarded twelvet,Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note,By thy freezing, gray stones, oh, sea!0nce upon a midnight dreary,A gentle knight was pricking on-----"_

"Worse and worse!" yelled Arthur. "Halleck, Poe, Tennyson, Spenser,and I don't know who else in a regular literary hash! That willdo for you, my child.' A little of that goes a long way."

"Didn't I tell you I sometimes was bubbling all over with poetry?"