INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLY.

O My Aged Uncle Arly!

Sitting on a heap of Barley

Thro’ the silent hours of night,—

Close beside a leafy thicket:—

On his nose there was a Cricket,—

In his hat a Railway-Ticket

( But his shoes were far too tight ).

Long ago, in youth, he squander'd

All his goods away, and wander'd

To the Tiniskoop-hills afar.

There on golden sunsets blazing,

Every evening found him gazing,—

Singing,— “Orb! you're quite amazing!

“How I wonder what you are!”

Like the ancient Medes and Persians,

Always by his own exertions

He subsisted on those hills;—

Whiles,— by teaching children spelling,—

Or at times by merely yelling,—

Or at intervals by selling

“Propter's Nicodemus Pills.”

Later, in his morning rambles

He perceived the moving brambles —

Something square and white disclose;—

‘ Twas a First-class Railway-Ticket;

But, on stooping down to pick it

Off the ground,— a pea-green Cricket

Settled on my uncle's Nose.

Never — never more,— oh! never,

Did that Cricket leave him ever,—

Dawn or evening, day or night;—

Clinging as a constant treasure,—

Chirping with a cheerious measure,—

Wholly to my uncle's pleasure

( Though his shoes were far too tight ).

So for three and forty winters,

Till his shoes were worn to splinters,

All those hills he wander'd o'er,—

Sometimes silent;— sometimes yelling;—

Till he came to Borley-Melling,

Near his old ancestral dwelling

( But his shoes were far too tight ).

On a little heap of Barley

Died my aged Uncle Arly,

And they buried him one night;—

Close beside the leafy thicket;—

There,— his hat and Railway-Ticket;—

There,— his ever-faithful Cricket

( But his shoes were far too tight ).