A-Chapter-of-froisyart (GRANDPAPA LOQUITUR.) OU don't know Froissart now, young folks, 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), Sir John was less ignored. Indeed, I can re-call how Some-one present (Who spoils her grandson, Frank!) would read, And find him pleasant; For, by this copy,-hangs a Tale. Long since, in an old house in Surrey, Where men knew more of "morning ale" Than "Lindley Murray," In a dim-lighted, whip-hung hall, 'Neath Hogarth's "Midnight Conversation," It stood; and oft 'twixt spring and fall, With fond elation, I turned the brown old leaves. For there All through one hopeful happy summer, At such a page (I well knew where), Some secret comer, A Chapter of Froissart. Whom I can picture, 'Trix, like you (Though scarcely such a colt unbroken), Would sometimes place for private view A certain token ;— A rose-leaf meaning "Garden Wall,” An ivy-leaf for "Orchard corner," A thorn to say, "Don't come at all," Unwelcome warner !— Not that, in truth, our friends gainsaid; But then Romance required dissembling, (Ann Radcliffe taught us that!) which bred. Some genuine trembling; Though, as a rule, all used to end In such kind confidential parley As may to you kind Fortune send, You long-legged Charlie, G 81 When your time comes. How years slip on! We had our crosses like our betters; Fate sometimes looked askance upon Those floral letters; And once, for three long days disdained, The dust upon the folio settled; For some-one, in the right, was pained, And some-one nettled, That sure was in the wrong, but spake Of fixed intent and purpose stony To serve King George, enlist and make Minced-meat of "Boney," Who yet survived-ten years at least. And so, when she I mean came hither One day that need for letters ceased, She brought this with her. |