He wheeled to see from whence the missile came;
The demon laughed “O pshaw!”
I gave the creature to an old-maid aunt,
And shook with parting grief its skinny claw.
“He’ll serve to cheer,” she said, “my lonely hearth,
For I’d not marry the best man on earth!”
“O pshaw!” sneered Poll, “O psha-a-w!”
Emma H. Webb.
