OLD GRIMES IS DEAD.
Old Grimes is dead-that good old man-
We ne'er shall see him more;
He used to wear a long black coat
All huttoned down before.
His heart was open as the day,
His feelings were all true;
His hair was some inclined to gray.
He wore it in a queue.
Kind words he ever had for all.
He knew no base designs;
His eyes were dark and rather small.
His nose was aqualine.
Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes,
He passed securely o'er;
And never wore a pair of boots.
For thirty years or more.
He modest merit sought to find
And pay it its deserts;
He had no malice in his mind.
No ruffles on his shirt.
His knowledge hid from public gaze
He did not bring to view-
Nor make a noise town-meeting days.
As many people do.
Thus undisturbed by anxious cares.
His peaceful moments ran;
And everybody said he was
A fine old gentleman.