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 ).