4^- of tir>Q xviji Gntury tcWh 7\UQh 2^/)on7cron 'is^ THE 'BALLAD OF 'BEAU BROCADE ^AND OTHER POEMS Digitized by the Internet Arciiive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/balladofbeaubrocOOdobsrich 5 t* • •» »•* J » I 5 ^Se ^M^^^^Bro^ ofScr foerrU ^^^cfifie :XVIirtfi Ceryiury, co'iifx CHISWICK press: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. I TO LADY BOWEN " FOR OLD SAKE's SAKE b3 " For old sake'' 5 sake I " ^T^were hard to choose Words fitter for an old-mjorid Muse Than these, that in their cadence bring Faint fragrance of the posy-ring, And charms that rustic levers use. The long day lengthens, and ^e lose The first pale flush, the morning hues, — Ah! but the back-look, lingering. For old sake's sake I That njje retain. Though Time refuse To lift the 'Veil on for 'ward vie^ws. Despot in most, he is not King Of those kind memories that cling Around his travelled avenues For old sake^s sake ! Vll 247738 ■./<^yy Concerning the eight pieces here reprinted from ^'Old-World Idylls" and "At the Sign of the Lyre," it is only necessary to say that they have been chosen because^ being laid in the Eighteenth Century^ they appeared to present a congenial field for the artistic ingenuity of Mr, Hugh Thomson^ who has illustrated them with an ability which I can only admire^ and a personal enthusiasm for which I can scarcely be sufficiently grateful, Austin Dobson. The Ballad of Beau Brocade i A Gentleman of the Old School .... 33 A Gentlewoman of the Old School ... 49 The Old Sedan Chair 65 Molly Trefusis 73 The Ladies of St. James's 83 A Dead Letter 91 A Chapter of Froissart 105 Notes ,....115 XI PACiE " As he lifts her out light " Frontispiece Heading to Preface ix Heading to Contents xi Heading to List of Illustrations xiii *' Jotted her down on the spot'^ 2 Heading to poem 3 ** Would 'club' for a 'Guard'" 5 *'The Oak and Crown"" . 6 *' Straining and creaking" 7 Courtesies of the Road 8 ** Where the best strong waters are" 10 ** Sympathy, horror, and wonderment" 11 *' Ensign (of Bragg's)" 12 " George the Guard" 14. " Out-spoke Dolly the Chambermaid" 15 Heading to Part II 17 ** And drums were banged" 19 "Saddling the gray mare" 21 "Clattered away to 'Exciseman's Folly '" .... 22 xiii List of Illustrations PAGE " Came cantering into the view" 25 "Turned King's evidence " 28 The Finish of Beau Brocade 31 "No sophistries could make him see its slender credit" 34 Heading to poem 35 In the garden 37 " To catch the cuckoo's call " . . 39 In the Mall 40 "Sorrel" 41 "When Sweetlip swelled its jovial riot " .... 42 "A sunny summer doze" 45 "She once had been the rage " 50 Heading to poem 51 "The warm west-looking window-seat "" . , . . k^G "She'd still her beau" 59 " Delighted in his dry bons-mots " ...... 60 " The almond tree " 63 " But prone, on a question of fare '' 66 Heading to poem G'j In a Fine-Art Museum 71 " Was she wooed ? " 74 Heading to poem 75 " Miss Molly Trefusis" -^d " 'Twas a knight of the shire '' 80 Tailpiece (" A Toast ") 82 With a "Stand by! clear the way " 84 Heading to poem 85 xiv List of Illustrations PAGE P* And runs to gather May dew" 87 'They frown on you — for weeks" 88 [** By the broken stile '' 92 leading to poem 93 ^* Sam's two Eyes are all for Cissy" 98 Tailpiece 103 The leaf-stained chapter 103 leading to poem 107 I** An ivy-leaf for ' Orchard corner ' " no XV THE 'BALLAD OF BEAU BROCADE JoHed /iQT doion on fAe ffiot. ^(^facf or*99faa '^J EVENTEEN hundred and thirty nine: "^ That was the date of this tale of mine. First great George was buried and gone ; George the Second was plodding on. London then, as the '* Guides " aver, Shared its glories with Westminster ; ^'he'^Baliad of "Beau "Brocade And people of rank, to correft their " tone," Went out of town to Marybone. Those were the days of the War with Spalriy Porto-Bello would soon be ta'en; Whitefield preached to the colliers grim, Bishops in lawn sleeves preached at him j Walpole talked of a man and his price"; Nobody's virtue was over-nice: — Those, in fine, were the brave days when Coaches were stopped by . . . Highwaymen ! And of all the knights of the gentle trade Nobody bolder than "Beau Brocade." This they knew on the whole way down ; Best, — maybe, — at the '' Oak and Crown,''' 4 lVcn,WXri,^'fir oguarqT 77/CYicfer>^eK.l ' I The "Ballad of Beau Brocade Followed the tale of the hundred-and-one Things that Somebody ought to have done. ^Ky.y^ (./ B^ag^i) Ensign (of Bragg's) made a terrible clangour: But for the Ladies had drawn his hanger ! 12 r The "Ballad of Beau Brocade Robber, of course, was "Beau Brocade"; Out-spoke Dolly the Chambermaid. Devonshire Dolly, plump and red. Spoke from the gallery overhead ; — Spoke it out boldly, staring hard : — *^Why didn't you shoot then, George the Guard ? " Spoke it out bolder, seeing him mute : — " George the Guard, v^hy didn't you shoot ? " Portly John grew pale and red, (John was afraid of her, people said ;) Gasped that " Dolly was surely cracked," (John was afraid of her — that's a faft!) George the Guard grew red and pale. Slowly finished his quart of ale : — 13 ^^^^%. — ^^?^\^^^ |%^:^:>^ Jforqe tiy'^ Cixsx.i^' 'J, .^ ^""^^"^^^'J^twAe^^-^-^^fr "^^^ (^^"iamSer yva('c{ The ballad of *Beau "Brocade "Shoot? Why— Rabbit him!— didn't he shoot?" Muttered — " The Baggage was far too 'cute ! " " Shoot ? Why he'd flashed the pan in his eye !" Muttered — '^ She'd pay for it by and by ! " Further than this made no reply. Nor could a further reply be made, For George was in league with "Beau Bro- cade"! And John the Host, in his wakefullest state, Was not — on the whole — immaculate. But nobody's virtue was over-nice When Walpole talked of "a man and his price"; And wherever Purity found abode, 'Twas certainly not on a posting road i6 "Forty" followed to "Thirty-nine." Glorious days of the Hanover line ! Princes were born, and drums were banged j Now and then batches of Highwaymen hanged. "Glorious news!" — from the Spanish Main', Porto-Bello at last was ta'en. "Glorious news!"— for the liquor trade; Nobody dreamed of "Beau Brocade.'* 17 The "Ballad of "Beau Brocade People were thinking o^ Spanish Crowns , Money was coming from seaport towns! Nobody dreamed of " Beau Brocade," (Only Dolly the Chambermaid!) Blessings on Vernon! Fill up the cans; Money was coming in " i^/y^" and " Vans^ Possibly, John the Host had heard; Also, certainly, George the Guard. And Dolly had possibly tidings, too, That made her rise from her bed anew, Plump as ever, but stern of eye. With a fixed intention to warn the *' iTy." Lingering only at John his door, Just to make sure of a jerky snore ; i8 r "The ballad of 'Beau 'Brocade Saddling the gray mare. Dumpling Star; Fetching the pistol out of the bar; (The old horse-pistol that, they say, Came from the battle of Maiplaquety) Loading with powder that maids would use, Even in " Forty," to clear the flues ; And a couple of silver buttons, the Squire Gave her, away in Devonshire, These she wadded — for want of better — With the B — sh — p of L — nd — n's "Pastoral Letter " ; Looked to the flint, and hung the whole, Ready to use, at her pocket-hole. 20 'V .^^-7 Jacff/Ti^rx^ fAe ^'ray'^cive ''^'iM-y -^^ Craftcrpcf'aurcry /o ?XaJcmanS%(Cy ^B The ballad of "Beau "Brocade ^Rfhus equipped and accoutred, Dolly ^■Clattered away to ^^ Exciseman's Folly^^ \ — Such was the name of a ruined abode, Just on the edge of the London road. Thence she thought she might safely try. As soon as she saw it, to warn the "/Ty." But, as chance fell out, her rein she drew, As the Beau came cantering into the view. By the light of the moon she could see him drest In his famous gold-sprigged tambour vest; And under his silver-gray surtout. The laced, historical coat of blue, That he wore when he went to London-Spaw^ And robbed Sir Mungo Mucklethraw. 23 T*he ballad of 'Beau Brocade Out-spoke Dolly the Chambermaid, (Trembling a Httle, but not afraid,) "Stand and Deliver, O 'Beau Brocade'!" But the Beau rode nearer, and would not speak. For he saw by the moonlight a rosy cheek; And a spavined mare with a rusty hide; And a girl with her hand at her pocket-side. So never a word he spoke as yet, For he thought 'twas a freak of Meg or Bet; — A freak of the ^'Rose^' or the '^ Rummer ^^ set. Out-spoke Dolly the Chambermaid, (Tremulous now, and sore afraid,) "Stand and Deliver, O 'Beau Brocade '!" — Firing then, out of sheer alarm. Hit the Beau in the bridle-arm. 24 Omc CayxteriYx^ .nia %c V.pUt" The ballad of ^eau brocade Button the first went none knows where. But it carried away his solitaire \ Button the second a circuit made, Glanced in under the shoulder blade; — Down from the saddle fell "Beau Brocade"! Down from the saddle and never stirred ! — Dolly grew white as a Windsor curd. Slipped not less from the mare, and bound Strips of her kirtle about his wound. Then, lest his Worship should rise and flee. Fettered his ankles — tenderly. Jumped on his chestnut, Bet the fleet (Called after Bet of Portugal Street)-^ 26 Roused fat John from a three-fold snore ;- The "Ballad of Beau Brocade Vowed she'd 'peach if he misbehaved . . . Briefly, the " Plymouth Fly " was saved ! Staines and Windsor were all on fire: — Dolly was wed to a Yorkshire squire; Went to town at the K — g's desire ! But whether His M — j — sty saw her or not, Hogarth jotted her down on the spot; And something of Dolly one still may trace In the fresh contours of his " MilkmaicCs " face. George the Guard fled over the sea: John had a fit — of perplexity; 27 a/u-rnec/'yx^-nci'j Ctit/enc I. The "Ballad of "Beau Brocade Turned King's evidence, sad to state; — But John was never immaculate. As for the Beau, he v^^as duly tried, When his v^ound v^as healed, at Whitsuntide \ Served — for a day — as the last of " sights," To the v^orld o^ St, James'sStreet and ^'' White's^'' Went on his w^ay to Tyburn Tree, With a pomp befitting his high degree. Every privilege rank confers: — Bouquet of pinks at St. Sepulchre' 5\ Flagon of ale at Holborn Bar-, Friends {in mourning) to follow his Car — ("t" is omitted where Heroes are!) 29 The "Ballad of Beau Brocade Every one knows the speech he made; Swore that he " rather admired the Jade! " — Waved to the crowd with his gold-laced hat: Talked to the Chaplain after that; Turned to the Topsman undismayed . . . This was the finish of Beau Brocade"! And this is the Ballad that seemed to hide In the leaves of a dusty "Londoner's Guide"; " Humbly inscrib'd^' (with curls and tails) By the Author to Frederick, Prince of W ales:— " Published by Francis and Oliver Pine; Ludgate-Hill^ at the Blackmoor Sign. Seventeen- Hundred-and'Thirty-Nine,^^ 30 exf QENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL Jif-/f^YVt<5T5Vx .tZ^^r^ W M E lived in that past Georgian day, <4m.J/ When men were less inclined to say That '' Time is Gold," and overlay With toil their pleasure; He held some land, and dwelt thereon, — Where, I forget, — the house is gone; His Christian name, I think, was John,— His surname. Leisure. 35 i5T oftf7e OfcT gc/iooTj^ HE lived in Georgian era too. Most women then, if bards be true. Succumbed to Routs and Cards, or grew Devout and acid. But hers was neither fate. She came Of good west-country folk, whose fame Has faded now. For us her name Is "Madam Placid." 51 c/f Qentlewoman of the Old School Patience or Prudence, — what you will. Some prefix faintly fragrant still As those old musky scents that fill Our grandams' pillows; And for her youthful portrait take Some long-waist child of Hudson's make, Stiffly at ease beside a lake With swans and willows. I keep her later semblance placed Beside my desk, — 'tis lawned and laced. In shadowy sanguine stipple traced By Bartolozzi; A placid face, in which surprise Is seldom seen, but yet there lies Some vestige of the laughing eyes Of arch Piozzi. 52 <^ Qentlewoman of the Old School For her e'en Time grew debonair. He, finding cheeks unclaimed of care, With late-delayed faint roses there, And lingering dimples, Had spared to touch the fair old face, And only kissed with Vauxhall grace The soft white hand that stroked her lace. Or smoothed her wimples. So left her beautiful. Her age Was comely as her youth was sage. And yet she once had been the rage 5 — It hath been hinted, Indeed, affirmed by one or two, Some spark at Bath (as sparks will do) Inscribed a song to "Lovely Prue," Which Urban printed. 53 zA Qentlewoman of the Old School I know she thought; I know she felt; Perchance could sum, I doubt she spelt; She knew as little of the Celt As of the Saxon; I know she played and sang, for yet We keep the tumble-down spinet To which she quavered ballads set By Arne or Jackson, Her tastes were not refined as ours; She liked plain food and homely flowers, Refused to paint, kept early hours, Went clad demurely; Her art was sampler-work design, Fireworks for her were " vastly fine," Her luxury was elder-wine, — She loved that ^' purely." 54 Cuarm coetft^/o'o^oiy totMc/our-tJecO^ c/f Qentlewoman of the Old School She was renowned, traditions say, For June conserves, for curds and whey, For finest tea (she called it " tay "), And ratafia; She knew, for sprains, what bands to choose. Could tell the sovereign wash to use For freckles, and was learned in brews As erst Medea. Yet studied little. She would read. On Sundays, " Pearson on the Creed," Though, as I think, she could not heed His text profoundly ; Seeing she chose for her retreat The warm west-looking window-seat. Where, if you chanced to raise your feet, You slumbered soundly. 57 z4 Qentlewoman of the Old School This, 'twixt ourselves. The dear old dame. In truth, was not so much to blame; The excellent divine I name Is scarcely stirring; Her plain-song piety preferred Pure life to precept.. If she erred, She knew her faults. Her softest word Was for the erring. If she had loved, or if she kept Some ancient memory green, or wept Over the shoulder-knot that slept Within her cufF-box, I know not. Only this I know, At sixty-five she'd still her beau, A lean French exile, lame and slow. With monstrous snufF-box. 58 urf/upy^'^'^ Qacklmg (au^ffter^ (l4 Qentlewoman of the Old School Younger than she, well-born and bred. She'd found him in St. Giles', half dead Of teaching French for nightly bed And daily dinners; Starving, in faft, 'twixt want and pride; And so, henceforth, you always spied His rusty " pigeon-wings " beside Her Mechlin pinners. He worshipped her, you may suppose. She gained him pupils, gave him clothes, Delighted in his dry bons-mots And cackling laughter; And when, at last, the long duet Of conversation and picquet Ceased with her death, of sheer regret He died soon after. 6i dd Qentlewoman of the Old School Dear Madam Placid ! Others knew Your worth as well as he, and threw Their flowers upon your coffin too, I take for granted. Their loves are lost; but still we see Your kind and gracious memory Bloom yearly with the almond tree The Frenchman planted. 62 /C^ '" vC^e^^^^rT^"^- Vrrr THE OLD SEDAN CHAIR 1 " What V not destroy' d by Timers devouring Hand? Where V Troy, and ^-w here 'j the May- Pole in the Strand? " Bramston's "Art of Politicks." ^T stands in the stable-yard, under the eaves, Propped up by a broom-stick and covered with leaves: It once w^as the pride of the gay and the fair, But now 'tis a ruin, — that old Sedan chair! 67 The Old Sedan Chair It is battered and tattered, — it little avails That once it was lacquered, and glistened with nails ; • For its leather is cracked into lozenge and square. Like a canvas by Wilkie, — that old Sedan chair ! See, — here came the bearing-straps ; here were the holes For the poles of the bearers — when once there were poles ; It was cushioned with silk, it was wadded with hair. As the birds have discovered, — that old Sedan chair ! " Where's Troy ? " says the poet ! Look, — under the seat. Is a nest with four eggs, — 'tis the favoured retreat Of the Muscovy hen, who has hatched, I dare swear. Quite an army of chicks in that old Sedan chair! 68 T^he Old Sedan Chair And yet — Can't you fancy a face In the frame Of the window, — some high-headed damsel or dame, Be-patched and be-powdered, just set by the stair. While they raise up the lid of that old Sedan chair? Can't you fancy Sir Plume, as beside her he stands, , With his ruffles a-droop on his delicate hands. With his cinnamon coat, with his laced solitaire, As he lifts her out light from that old Sedan chair? Then it swings away slowly. Ah, many a league It has trotted 'twixt sturdy-legged Terence and Teague ; Stout fellows ! — but prone, on a question of fare. To brandish the poles of that old Sedan chair ! 69 T*he Old Sedan Chair It has waited by portals where Garrick has played ; It has waited by Heidegger's " Grand Masquer- ade"; For my Lady Codille, for my Lady Bellair, It has waited — and waited, that old Sedan chair ! Oh, the scandals it knows ! Oh, the tales it could tell Of Drum and Ridotto, of Rake and of Belle, — Of Cock-fight and Levee, and (scarcely more rare !) Of Fete-days at Tyburn, that old Sedan chair ! " Heu I quantum mutata^'* I say as I go. It deserves better fate than a stable-yard, though ! We must furbish it up, and dispatch it, — " With Care,"— To a Fine-Art Museum — that old Sedan chair ! 70 mOLLT TREFUSIS ^(fy pre/a^i^ . _,^M^d ---- \w ^Vacoj are four aricf iHe^i:r>uJM itvo, \c{ieri (of the -nuvnSer o/'JHujtJ ; Q fluje ancfu (Jrace anc/'a Ifnu^r are yo«^ r\i^y he wrote, the old bard of an "old maga- zine": As a study it not without use is. If we wonder a moment who she may have been, This same "little Molly Trefusis!" She was Cornish. We know that at once by the "Tre"; Then of guessing it scarce an abuse is If we say that where Bude bellows back to the sea Was the birthplace of Molly Trefusis. 75 dually Trefusis And she lived in the era of patches and bows, Not knowing what rouge or ceruse is; For they needed (I trust) but her natural rose, The Hlies of Molly Trefusis. And I somehow conneft her (I frankly admit That the evidence hard to produce is) With Bath in its hey-day of Fashion and Wit,- This dangerous Molly Trefusis. I fancy her, radiant in ribbon and knot, (How charming that old-fashioned puce is!) All blooming in laces, fal-lals and what not, At the Pump Room, — Miss Molly Trefusis. 77 O^olly Trefusis I fancy her reigning, — a Beauty, — a Toast, Where Bladud's medicinal cruse is; And we know that at least of one Bard it could boast, — The Court of Queen Molly Trefusis, He says she was "Venus." I doubt it. Beside, (Your rhymer so hopelessly loose is!) His "little" could scarce be to Venus applied. If fitly to Molly Trefusis. No, no. It was Hebe he had in his mind; And fresh as the handmaid of Zeus is. And rosy, and rounded, and dimpled, — you'll find, — Was certainly Molly Trefusis ! 78 Jdolly Trefusis Then he calls her " a Muse." To the charge I reply- That we all of us know what a Muse is; It is something too awful, — too acid, — too dry, — For sunny-eyed Molly Trefusis. But " a Grace." There I grant he was probably right; (The rest but a verse-making ruse is) It was all that was graceful, — intangible, — hght. The beauty of Molly Trefusis ! Was she wooed? Who can hesitate much about that Assuredly more than obtuse is; For how could the poet have written so pat ''My dear little Molly Trefusis!" 79 u/cuanT ?» /vi^'^^A-jo/ xAe QfjQr^ 3V[olly Trefusis And was wed? That I think we must plainly infer, Since of suitors the common excuse is To take to them Wives. So it happened to her, Of course,—" little Molly Trefusis ! " To the Bard? 'Tis unlikely. Apollo, you see. In praftical matters a goose is; — 'Twas a knight of the shire, and a hunting J. P., Who carried off Molly Trefusis ! And you'll find, I conclude, in the ^^Gentleman's Mag.," At the end, where the pick of the news is, '^On the (blank), at 'the Bath^' to Sir Hilary Bragg, With a Fortune, Miss Molly Trefusis." 8i dually Trefusis Thereupon . . But no farther the student may pry: Love's temple is dark as Eleusis; So here, at the threshold, we part, you and I, From " dear little Molly Trefusis." f")'- (yj^j^r ^"' -i^ '^ 82 THE LADIES OF ST. JAMES'S *;j e/l^noT ^y! Cl^arihe CUoy* Q ^Phylllda amo ante alias.'"' ViRG. ^ HE ladies of St. James's Go swinging to the play; Their footmen run before them, With a "Stand by! Clear the way!" But Phyllida, my Phyllida! She takes her buckled shoon, When we go out a-courting Beneath the harvest moon. 85 "The Ladies of St, James's The ladies of St. James's Wear satin on their backs; They sit all night at Ombre^ With candles all of wax: But Phyllida, my Phyllida! She dons her russet gown, And runs to gather May dew Before the world is down. The ladies of St. James's! They are so fine and fair, You'd think a box of essences Was broken in the air: But Phyllida, my PhylHda! The breath of heath and furze, When breezes blow at morning, Is not so fresh as hers. 86 :? ^ -^^ / < ^^ %A;/' ' -/Aey /jtw-n on you. - ^r oog^Aj^ 'Hhe Ladies of St. James's The ladies of St. James's! They're painted to the eyes; Their white it stays for ever, Their red it never dies: But Phyllida, my Phyllida! Her colour comes and goesj It trembles to a lily, — It v^avers to a rose. The ladies of St. James's ! You scarce can understand The half of all their speeches. Their phrases are so grand: But PhylHda, my Phyllida! Her shy and simple v^ords Are clear as after rain-drops The music of the birds. 89 The Ladies of Sl James's The ladies of St. James's! They have their fits and freaks; They smile on you — for seconds, They frown on you — for weeks: But Phyllida, my Phyllida! Come either storm or shine, From Shrove-tide unto Shrove-tide, Is always true — and mine. My Phyllida! my Phyllida! I care not though they heap The hearts of all St. James's, And give me all to keep; I care not whose the beauties Of all the world may be. For Phyllida— for PhylHda Is all the world to me ! 90 j: 'DEAD LETTER 'mcs lipjje— CornSre etteSiTena W) ^X^ Tf- (ft J^CzQc. DREW it from its china tomb; — It came out feebly scented With some thin ghost of past perfume That dust and days had lent it. An old, old letter, — folded still ! To read with due composure, I sought the sun-lit window-sill, Above the gray enclosure, 93 ead Letter That glimmering in the sultry haze, Faint-flowered, dimly shaded, Slumbered like Goldsmith's Madam Blaize, Bedizened and brocaded. A queer old place! You'd surely say Some tea-board garden-maker Had planned it in Dutch William's day To please some florist Quaker, So trim it was. The yew-trees still, With pious care perverted, Grew in the same grim shapes; and still The lipless dolphin spurted ; Still in his wonted state abode The broken-nosed Apollo; And still the cypress-arbour showed The same umbrageous hollow. 94 ead Letter " Only till Sunday next, and then you'll wait Behind the White-Thorn, by the broken Stile — We can go round and catch them at the Gate, All to Ourselves, for nearly one long Mile; Dear Prue won't look, and Father he'll go on. And Sam's two Eyes are all for Cissy ^ John\ '^John^ she 's so smart, — with every Ribbon new, Flame-coloured Sack, and Crimson Padesoy: As proud as proud; and has the Vapours too. Just like My Lady; — calls poor Sam a Boy, And vows no Sweet-heart 's worth the Thinking- on Till he's past Thirty ... I know better, "JohnX "My Dear, I don't think that I thought of much Before we knew each other, I and you; And now, why, John^ your least, least Finger- touch, Gives me enough to think a Summer through. 99 <:A T>ead Letter See, for I send you Something ! There, 'tis gone ! Look in this corner, — mind you find it, John\ " III. This was the matter of the note, — A long-forgot deposit. Dropped in an Indian dragon's throat. Deep in a fragrant closet, Piled with a dapper Dresden world, — Beaux, beauties, prayers, and poses, — Bonzes with squat legs undercurled. And great jars filled with roses. Ah, heart that wrote! Ah, lips that kissed! You had no thought or presage Into what keeping you dismissed Your simple old-world message! 100 ead Letter Peace to your soul! You died unwed — Despite this loving letter. And what of John? The less that's said Of John, I think, the better. 103 ^ CHAPTER OF FRO IS S ART (grandpapa loquitur.) "OU don't know Froissart noWjyoung folks, This age, I think, prefers recitals Of high-spiced crime, with " slang " for jokes, And startling titles; But, in my time, when still some few Loved "old Montaigne," and praised Pope's Homer (Nay, thought to style him *'poet" too. Were scarce misnomer), 107