“我是凯瑟琳小姐的书，”画册上说;“我在你的书堆里躺了好几个星期了;我厌倦了他们的旧外套和黄脸颊。“快,钢笔!优雅地写一行字:来吧!给我画一张滑稽的小脸;还有，请你把我送回切舍姆广场。”钢笔。“我是我主人忠实的老金笔;我为他服务了三年，从那以后，我画了成千上万个有趣的女人和滑稽的男人。 '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 answered all. 'Poor Diddler's tenth petition for a half- Guinea; 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 labor'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 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.'