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THE PEN AND THE ALBUM

AM Miss Catherine's book," the Album speaks;
"I've lain among your tomes these many weeks;
I'm tired of their old coats and yellow cheeks.

"Quick, Pen! and write a line with a good grace:
Come! draw me off a funny little face;
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
To follow him through his queer pilgrimage,
I've drawn and written many a line and page.

"Caricatures I scribbled have, and rhymes,
And dinner-cards, and picture pantomimes,
And merry little children's books at times.

"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,
And sure as comes the postman and the sun,
The indefatigable ink must run.

"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 dryAlbum! 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."

MRS. KATHERINE'S LANTERN

C

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM

OMING from a gloomy court,
Place of Israelite resort,
This old lamp I've brought with me.

Madam, on its panes you'll see
The initials K and E."

"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,
Mistress of the flowery wreath,
And the anagram beneath -
The mysterious K E?

"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
Don't you hear the plash of oars
Underneath the lantern's glow,
And a thrilling voice begins
To the sound of mandolins? -
Begins singing of amore
And delire and dolore

O the ravishing tenore!

"Lady, do you know the tune?

Ah, we all of us have hummed it!
I've an old guitar has thrummed it,
Under many a changing moon.
Do RE MI **

Shall I try it?
What is this? 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."