POETRY.

SAYS SHE.

Mr Granny she often says to me, Says she, " You're terrible bold,

It's you have a right to mend your ways Before you'll ever grow old," Says she, "Before you'll ever grow old.

For it's steadfast now that you ought to be, An' you going on sixteen," says she.

"What'll you do when you're old like me, What'll you do P " says she.

"What will I do when I'm old P" says I,

" Och Musba! say my prayers, I'll wear a net an' a black lace cap To cover my silver ha'rs,"

Says I,

" To cover my silver hairs.

When I am as old as Kate Kearney's cat

I'll sell my dress and featherdy hat, An' buy an old bedgown the like o' that,

The very like o' that."

My Granny she sighs and says to me, "The years fly terrible fast, The girls they laugh an' talk with the boys, But they all grow old at last," Says she, " They all grow old at last.

At Epiphany cocks may skip," says she, "But kilt by Easter they're like to be. By the Hokey! you'll grow as old as me, As weak an' old," says she.

"Maybe you tell me no lie," says I, " But I've time before me yet.

There's time to dance an' there's time to sing, So why would I need to fret ? "

Says I, " So why would I need to fret P Old age may lie at the foot of the hill, 'Twixt hoppin' and trottin' we'll get there still.

Why wouldn't we dance while we have the wile Dance while we have the will ? " W. M. LErr,i