I THE PEN AND THE ALBUM AM Miss Catherine's book," the Album speaks; "Quick, Pen! and write a line with a good grace: And, prithee, send me back to Chesham Place." PEN. "I am my master's faithful old Gold Pen; I've served him three long years, and drawn since then Thousands of funny women and droll men. "O Album! could I tell you all his ways And thoughts, since I am his, these thousand days, Lord, how your pretty pages I'd amaze!” ALBUM. "His ways? his thoughts? Just whisper me a few; Tell me a curious anecdote or two, And write 'em quickly off, good Mordan, do!" PEN. "Since he my faithful service did engage "Caricatures I scribbled have, and rhymes, "I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain; The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain; The idle word that he 'd wish back again. "I've help'd him to pen many a line for bread; To joke, with sorrow aching in his head; And make your laughter when his own heart bled. "I've spoke with men of all degree and sort Peers of the land, and ladies of the Court; Oh, but I've chronicled a deal of sport! "Feasts that were ate a thousand days ago, Biddings to wine that long hath ceased to flow, Gay meetings with good fellows long laid low; "Summons to bridal, banquet, burial, ball, Tradesman's polite reminders of his small Account due Christmas last - I've answer'd all. "Poor Diddler's tenth petition for a halfGuinea; Miss Bunyan's for an autograph; So I refuse, accept, lament, or laugh, "Condole, congratulate, invite, praise, scoff, Day after day still dipping in my trough, And scribbling pages after pages off. "Day after day the labour's to be done, "Go back, my pretty little gilded tome, To a fair mistress and a pleasant home, Where soft hearts greet us whensoe'er we come! "Dear, friendly eyes, with constant kindness lit, However rude my verse, or poor my wit, Or sad or gay my mood, you welcome it. "Kind lady! till my last of lines is penn'd, My master's love, grief, laughter, at an end, Whene'er I write your name, may I write friend! "Not all are so that were so in past years; Voices, familiar once, no more he hears; Names, often writ, are blotted out in tears. "So be it: - joys will end and tears will dry Album! my master bids me wish good-by, He'll send you to your mistress presently. "And thus with thankful heart he closes you; Blessing the happy hour when a friend he knew So gentle, and so generous, and so true. "Nor pass the words as idle phrases by; Stranger! I never writ a flattery, Nor sign'd the page that register'd a lie." 66 MRS. KATHERINE'S LANTERN C WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM OMING from a gloomy court, This old lamp I've brought with me. "An old lantern brought to me? Ugly, dingy, battered, black!" (Here a lady I suppose Turning up a pretty nose) "Pray, sir, take the old thing back. I've no taste for bricabrac." “Please to mark the letters twain" (I'm supposed to speak again) – "Graven on the lantern pane. Can you tell me who was she, "Full a hundred years are gone Since the little beacon shone From a Venice balcony: There, on summer nights, it hung, And her lovers came and sung To their beautiful K E. "Hush! in the canal below "Lady, do you know the tune? Shall I try it? What is this? Do RE MI** Ma foi, the fact is, That my hand is out of practice, And my poor old fiddle cracked is, And a man -I let the truth out, Who's had almost every tooth out, Cannot sing as once he sung, When he was young as you are young, When he was young and lutes were strung, And love-lamps in the casement hung." |