He drops into my easy-chair,

And asks about the news; He peers into my manuscript,

And gives his candid views;

MY FAMILIAR.

He tells me where he likes the line,

And where he's forced to grieve;

He takes the strangest liberties,

But never takes his leave!

He reads my daily paper through
Before I've seen a word;

He scans the lyric (that I wrote),
And thinks it quite absurd;

He calmly smokes my last cigar,
And coolly asks for more;
He opens everything he sees—
Except the entry door!

He talks about his fragile health,
And tells me of the pains;

He suffers from a score of ills

Of which he ne'er complains ;

MY FAMILIAR.

And how he struggled once with Death

To keep the fiend at bay;

On themes like those away he goes

But never goes away!

He tells me of the carping words

Some shallow critic wrote;

And every precious paragraph

Familiarly can quote;

He thinks the writer did me wrong;

He'd like to run him through!

He says a thousand pleasant things

But never says

"Adieu !"

Whene'er he comes-that dreadful man

Disguise it as I may,

I know that, like an autumn rain,

He'll last throughout the day.

"DO YOU THINK HE IS MARRIED?”

In vain I speak of urgent tasks;

In vain I scowl and pout;

A frown is no extinguisher

It does not put him out!

I mean to take the knocker off,

Put crape upon the door,

Or hint to John that I am gone

To stay a month or more.

I do not tremble when I meet

The stoutest of my foes,

But Heaven defend me from the friend

Who never, never goes!

"DO YOU THINK HE IS MARRIED?"

MADAM, you are very pressing,

And I can't decline the task;

With the slighest gift of guessing,

You would scarcely need to ask!