And goodness! gracious! how he jumped, and dusted for the shed;
And in a moment every straw was blazing in his bed.
And you’d have died of laughter, mother, I’m certain, if you saw
Old Deacon Reed run out to tramp upon the burning straw;
And when he ran to get the hose—for tramping would not do—
His wig blew off, and down the street for half a block it flew.
CELEBRATING THE FOURTH.
I know it was not proper, mother, and I ashamed should be
To stand and gag, just like a wag, another’s loss to see;