"
"And you were the giggling girl," said I.
"She's no better now," said my mother, as she entered the room, and
readily guessed what we had been hearing from aunty. Father walked up to
Aunt Clara, and pinched her ears for her. What more he might have done I
don't know, if Parson Oliver had not dropped in. We made quite a
pleasant evening of it, and the old folks discussed the reminiscence in
all its bearings. I like to hear old people talk. They come straight to
the pith of a subject, especially if it is love and matrimony. And the
more I hear them, the better I can realize the truth of the Old Virginia
admonition,--
"Ole folks, ole folks, you better go to bed,
You only put the mischief in the young folks' head."
* * * * *
AUTUMN SONG.
In Spring the Poet is glad,
And in Summer the Poet is gay;
But in Autumn the Poet is sad,
And has something sad to say:
For the wind moans in the wood,
And the leaf drops from the tree;
And the cold rain falls on the graves of the good,
And the cold mist comes up from the sea:
And the Autumn songs of the Poet's soul
Are set to the passionate grief
Of winds that sough and bells that toll
The dirge of the falling leaf.
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