FATHER CHIRP.

Three little chirping crickets Came, one night, to our door; Tried all their keys, Then tried their knees. Till they could try no more. "THEN TRIED THEIR KNEES." The biggest of the crickets Scratched hard his shiny head; And what to do, And what to do, He didn't know, he said. The door, it would not open To comers so belated; Nobody heard, Nobody stirred, As still the crickets waited. And then, as on a sudden, By some new impulse bent, Their voices three 'Rose shrill and free, To give their feelings vent! Then high upon their tiny legs They stretched, to peep and peer; While right behind The window-blind I crouched, to see and hear. "HIGH UPON THEIR TINY LEGS." Louder the crickets chirped and chirped, And, as I heard it then, The tale they sung In crickets' tongue I render with my pen. The tallest one was Father Chirp; Here was his early home; Here lived his mother And dearest brother, And hither had he come; And with him brought his two brave sons, Both skipping at his side, To show to her, Their grandmother, With true paternal pride. "There used to be," sang Father Chirp, "A little child about; And that door there Was free as air For going in or out. "But days have passed since I lived here,— It's like the folks are dead! My children, oh! My children, oh! I'm going to weep," he said. And then into his handkerchief His little head went bobbing, And his two heirs They pulled out theirs, And all three fell to sobbing. "ALL THREE FELL TO SOBBING." I lost no time in opening wide The door that had been fast; And I could see Those crickets three Like dusky ghosts flit past. And when I, listening, heard a chirp, Another, and another, I knew as well As words could tell They'd found the old grandmother!