Oh, the story-book boy! he's a wonderful youth,
A prodigy reeking with goodness and truth;
As brave as a lion, as wise as a sage,
And sharp as a razor, though twelve years of age.
His mother is good and she's awfully poor,
But he says, "Do not fret, I'll provide for you, sure!"
And the hard grasping landlord, who comes to annoy,
Is braved to his teeth by the story-book boy.

Oh, the story-book boy! when he sees that young churl.
The Squire's spoiled son, kick the poor crippled girl,
He darts to the rescue as quick as he can,
And dusts the hard road with the cruel young man;
And when he is sought by the vengeful old Squire,
He withers the latter with tongue-lashing ire;
For the town might combine his young nerve to destroy,
And never once shake him—the story-book boy.

Oh, the story-book boy! when the Judge's dear child
Is dragged through the streets by a runaway wild,
Of course he's on hand, and a "ten-strike" he makes,
For he stops the mad steed in a couple of "shakes";
And he tells the glad Judge, who has wept on his hat,
"I did but my duty!" or something like that;
And the very best place in the Judge's employ
Is picked out at once for the story-book boy.

Oh, the story-book boy! all his troubles are o'er,
For he gets to be Judge in a year or two more;
And the wicked old landlord in poverty dies,
And the Squire's son drinks, and in gutters he lies;
But the girl whom he saved is our hero's fair bride,
And his old mother comes to their home to abide;
In silks and sealskins, she cries, in her joy:
"Thank Heaven, I'm Ma of a story-book boy!"