Chapter I: Front Matter

AULD LANG SYNE.

* * * * *

SELECTIONS FROM THE PAPERS

OF THE

“PEN AND PENCIL CLUB.”

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min’,
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o’ lang syne!”

BURNS.

[Picture: Decorative graphic]

PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION.

1877.

* * * * *

CHISWICK PRESS:—C. WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT,
CHANCERY LANE.

CONTENTS.

PAGE Cradle Feb. 1864 _Mentia Taylor_ 1 Bells March, 1864 _Marian James_ 3 Mirror June, 1864 _Lewis Morris_ 4 Shadows Nov. 1864 _Catherine 5 Taylor_ Shadows Nov. 1864 _Lewis 6 Sergeant_ Organ Boys Dec. 1864 _Frances Power 7 Cobbe_ Organ Boys Dec. 1864 _Lewis Morris_ 9 Stumbling Blocks March, 1865 _Professor 16 Seeley_ Witchcraft May, 1865 _Mentia Taylor_ 19 Chivalry Feb. 1866 _Marian James_ 22 Castles in the Air March, 1866 _Annie Keary_ 26 Autumn Leaves May, 1866 _Arthur Munby_ 28 Silence June, 1866 _Mentia Taylor_ 30 Lights and Shadows Dec. 1866 _Lewis Morris_ 31 Echoes Feb. 1867 _M. D. Conway_ 36 Expediency March, 1867 _Professor 40 Seeley_ Rest April, 1867 _Joseph 43 Mazzini_ Rest April, 1867 _Alice 45 Malleson_ Rest April, 1867 _Edwin Arnold_ 46 Gossip Nov. 1867 _Catherine 49 Taylor_ Chips May, 1868 _Austin Dobson_ 54 Chips May, 1868 _Joseph Biggs_ 57 Transformation Dec. 1868 _Caroline 62 Biggs_ Transformation Dec. 1868 _Eliza Keary_ 67 Surprise March, 1869 _Edwin Arnold_ 75 The Gloaming March, 1869 _Henry 78 Fellowes_ Sketches April, 1869 _Lewis 83 Sergeant_ Sketches April, 1869 _Annie Keary_ 84 Sketches April, 1869 _Austin Dobson_ 92 Things Gone By May, 1869 _Sheldon Amos_ 97 Things Gone By May, 1869 _P. A. Taylor_ 99 Things Gone By May, 1869 _Arthur Munby_ 102 No; or, the Little Goose May, 1869 _Eliza Keary_ 103 Girl Exile Jan. 1870 _Caroline 108 Biggs_ Exile Jan. 1870 _Joseph Biggs_ 111 Tradition Feb. 1870 _H. W. Higgins_ 115 Regret March, 1870 _A. D. 117 Atkinson_ Realities Dec. 1870 _P. A. Taylor_ 118 Realities Dec. 1870 _Lewis 125 Sergeant_ Bark Feb. 1871 _Lewis 128 Sergeant_ Smoke April, 1871 _J. S. Babb_ 130 Wherefore Nov. 1871 _H. W. Higgins_ 132 Voices Nov. 1871 _M. J. 134 Ronniger_ Return of the Swallows March, 1874 _Agnes 135 Macdonell_ Return of the Swallows March, 1874 _William 137 Allingham_ Return of the Swallows March, 1874 _Edmund Gosse_ 142 Auld Lang Syne March, 1874 _Thomas 144 Webster_ Auld Lang Syne March, 1874 _Augusta 149 Webster_ River April, 1874 _Austin Dobson_ 151 River April, 1874 _Adelaide 156 Manning_ Footpath April, 1874 _Ashurst Biggs_ 158 Footpath April, 1874 _C. E. Maurice_ 162 Footpath April, 1874 _Edward 164 Carpenter_ Footpath April, 1874 _Edmund Gosse_ 165 Footpath April, 1874 _Austin Dobson_ 170 Turn of the Tide May, 1874 _Caroline 171 Biggs_ Turn of the Tide May, 1874 _A. M. 173 Stoddart_ Turn of the Tide May, 1874 _G. A. Simcox_ 174 Compromise May, 1874 _Thomas 175 Webster_ Farewell _Mentia Taylor_ 176

[Picture: Aubrey House (back view)]

[Picture: Aubrey House (front view)]

CRADLE.

THE human heart is cradle of deep love,
Which growing and expanding from its birth,
Ever finds space within that living cot;
Howe’er remotely o’er this beauteous earth
Its subtle influences may joy impart,
Whilst nestling in the human heart.

The human mind is cradle of high thought,
Ever aspiring to extend its sphere,
To penetrate those mysteries of life
Philosophy has fail’d to render clear.
Howe’er expansive, thought will ever find
Its cradle in the human mind.

The human soul is cradle of deep faith,
Of aspirations, and of purpose strong,
To kindle into life the seeds of truth—
Eradicate the germs of vice and wrong.
Howe’er these seeds develop and increase,
Within man’s soul they’ll find their place.

Three living cradles in one living form,
Expanding ever from their early birth;
High thought and sweet affection in ye dwell,
And Faith which hallows all things on this earth.
Each human being in himself may find
Three living cradles—soul, heart, mind.

THE SOUND OF BELLS.

O HAPPY bells that thrill the air
Of tranquil English summer-eves,
When stirless hang the aspen leaves,
And Silence listens everywhere.

And sinks and swells the tender chime,
Sad, as regret for buried fears,
Sweet, as repentant yearning tears—
The fit voice of the holy time.

O wond’rous voice! O mystic sound!
We listen, and our thoughts aspire
Like spiritual flame, from fire
That idly smoulders on the ground.

Forgotten longings have new birth
For better, purer, nobler life,
Lifted above the noisy strife
That drowns the music of this earth.

And human sorrow seems to be
A link unto diviner things,
The budding of the spirit’s wings
That only thus can soar—and see.

The twilight fades—the sweet bells cease,
The common world’s come back again,
But for a little space, its pain
And weariness are steep’d in peace.

MIRROR.