CHARLES LAMB is good, and so is Thackeray,And so’s Jane Austen in her pretty way;Charles Dickens, too, has pleased me quite a lot,As also have both Stevenson and Scott.I like Dumas and Balzac, and I thinkLord Byron quite a dab at spreading ink;But on the whole, at home, across the sea,The author I like best […]

THE style of man I’d like to be,If I could have my way,Would be a sort of pot-pourriOf Poe and Thackeray; Of Horace, Edison, and Lamb;Of Keats and Washington,Gérôme and blest Omar Khayyám,And R. L. Stevenson; Of Kipling and the Bard of Thrums,And Bonaparte the great-If I were these, I’d snap my thumbsDerisively at Fate.

I’VE penned a score of essays bright,In Addison’s best style;I’ve taken many a lofty flight,The Muses to beguile. Of novels I have written few-I think no more than ten;With history I’ve had to do,Like several other men. And still, to my intense regret,Through all my woe and weal,I’ve never penned a volume yet,A foreigner would […]

I’VE read your story of your friend’s fine life,But really, gentle sir, I fail to see,Why you have named it “Blank, and Jane his wife,”When you had better called it simply “Me.”

IF some one does not speedily inditeA volume that is worthy of my shelf,I’ll have to buy materials and writeA novel and some poetry myself.

IF Bacon wrote those grand inspiring linesAt which alternately man weeps and laughs,Who was it penned those chirographic vinesWe know these times as Shakespeare’s autographs?

THE poet pens his odes and sonnets spruceWith quills plucked from the ordinary goose,While critics write their sharp incisive linesWith quills snatched from the fretful porcupines.

A BOOK is an aristocrat:’Tis pampered-lives in state;Stands on a shelf, with naught whereatTo worry-lovely fate! Enjoys the best of company;And often-ay, ’tis so-Like much in aristocracy,Its title makes it go.

“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.”

“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.”

HE was a poet born, but unkind FateOnce doomed him for his verses to be paid,Whereon he left the poet-born’s estateAnd wrote like one who’d happened to be made.

HE writes bad verse on principle,E’en though it does not sell.He thinks the plan original-So many folk write well.

I FEEL that I am quite as smartAs Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. I’m also every bit as brightAs Walter Scott, the Scottish knight; And in my own peculiar wayI’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 unfoldBy […]

DAUDET to him is e’er Dodett;Dumas he calls Dumass;But prithee do not you forgetHe’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 eyeHath not completely scanned. And while this man’s orthoepyMay not be what it should,He knows what books contain, and […]

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 […]

HE does not read at all, yet he doth hoardRich 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 beganWould quite suffice to make a decent man!

How very close to truth these bookish menCan be when in their catalogues they pen The words descriptive of the wares they holdTo tempt the book-man with his purse of gold! For instance, they have Dryden-splendid set-Which some poor wight would part with wealth to get. ’Tis richly bound, its edges gilded-but-Hard fate-as Dryden well […]

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 findOne fact embedded firmly in my mind. That’s this, in short: while it no doubt may beMost pleasant for an author small to seeA fine edition of his work put […]

THEY speak most truly who do sayWe have no writing-folk to-dayLike 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!

I KNOW a wondrous man-my neighbor he;He’s ripe in years, and great in understanding.He’s versed in art, and in philosophyHe shows a mind that’s verily commanding. He’ll stand before a painting, and withoutA single instant’s thought, or hesitation,He’ll tell the painter’s name, nor any doubtIs there he gives the proper information. The rocks, the hills […]