In my collection famed of curios

In

I have, as every bookman knows,

A pen that Thackeray once used.

To be amused,

I thought I’d “take that pen in hand,”

And see what came of it—what grand

Inspired lines ’twould write,

One Sunday night.

I dipped it in the ink,

And tried to think,

“Just what shall I indite?”

And do you know, that pen went fairly mad;

A dreadful time with it I had.

It spluttered, spattered, scratched, and blotted so,

I had to give it up, you know.

It really wouldn’t work for me,

And so I put it down; but last night, after tea,

I took it up again,

And equally in vain.

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