Ah, what are the words of an aged crone?
For all have left her muttering alone;
And the needle and thread that they got with such pains,
They forever must keep as dagger and chains.
THE FUNNY STORY.
BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.
It was such a funny story! how I wish you could have heard it,
For it set us all a-laughing, from the little to the big;
I'd really like to tell it, but I don't know how to word it,
Though it travels to the music of a very lively jig.
If Sally just began it, then Amelia Jane would giggle,
And Mehetable and Susan try their very broadest grin;
And the infant Zachariah on his mother's lap would wriggle,
And add a lusty chorus to the very merry din.
It was such a funny story, with its cheery snap and crackle,
And Sally always told it with so much dramatic art,
That the chickens in the door-yard would begin to "cackle-cackle,"
As if in such a frolic they were anxious to take part.
It was all about a—ha! ha!—and a—ho! ho! ho!—well really,
It is—he! he! he!—I never could begin to tell you half
Of the nonsense there was in it, for I just remember clearly
It began with—ha! ha! ha! ha! and it ended with a laugh.
But Sally—she could tell it, looking at us so demurely,
With a woe-begone expression that no actress would despise;
And if you'd never heard it, why you would imagine surely
That you'd need your pocket-handkerchief to wipe your weeping eyes.
When age my hair has silvered, and my step has grown unsteady,
And the nearest to my vision are the scenes of long ago,
I shall see the pretty picture, and the tears may come as ready
As the laugh did, when I used to—ha! ha! ha! and—ho! ho! ho!