_A WANING MUSE_
"WHY art thou sad, Poeticus?" said I.
So blue was he I feared he would not speak.
"Alas! I've lost my grip," was his reply- "I've writ but forty poems, sir, this week."
_MODESTY_
"WHAT hundred books are best, think you?" I said, Addressing one devoted to the pen.
He thought a moment, then he raised his head: "I hardly know-I've written only ten."
_MY LORD THE BOOK_
A BOOK is an aristocrat: 'Tis pampered-lives in state; Stands on a shelf, with naught whereat To worry-lovely fate!
Enjoys the best of company; And often-ay, 'tis so- Like much in aristocracy, Its title makes it go.
_THE BIBLIOMISER_
HE does not read at all, yet he doth hoard Rich books. In exile on his shelves they're stored; And many a volume, sweet and good and true, Fails in the work that it was made to do.
Why, e'en the dust they've caught since he began Would quite suffice to make a decent man!
_THE "COLLECTOR"_
I GOT a tome to-day, and I was glad to strike it, Because no other man can ever get one like it.
'Tis poor, and badly print; its meaning's Greek; But what of that? 'Tis mine, and it's unique.
So Bah! to others, Men and brothers- Bah! and likewise Pooh!
I've got the best of you.
Go sicken, die, and eke repine.
That book you wanted-Gad! that's mine!
_A READER_
DAUDET to him is e'er Dodett; Dumas he calls Dumass; But prithee do not you forget He's not at all an ass;
Because the books that he doth buy, That on his shelf do stand, Hold not one page his eagle eye Hath not completely scanned.
And while this man's orthoepy May not be what it should, He knows what books contain, and he "Can quote 'em pretty good."
_FATE!_
I FEEL that I am quite as smart As Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart.
I'm also every bit as bright As Walter Scott, the Scottish knight;
And in my own peculiar way I'm just as good as Thackeray.
But, woe is me that it should be, They got here years ahead of me,
And all the tales I would unfold By them already have been told.
_A PLEASING THOUGHT_
THEY speak most truly who do say We have no writing-folk to-day Like those whose names, in days gone by, Upon the scroll of fame stood high.
And when I think of Smollett's tales, Of waspish Pope's ill-natured rails, Of Fielding dull, of Sterne too free, Of Swift's uncurbed indecency, Of Dr. Johnson's bludgeon-wit, I must confess I'm glad of it!
_BOOKS vs. "BOOKS"_
BY A BIBLIOMANIAC
A VOLUME'S just received on vellum print.
The book is worth the vellum-no more in't.
But, as I search my head for thoughts, I find One fact embedded firmly in my mind.