HOPE FOR POSTERITY.
Full many a year has waxed and waned
And sunk into its shroud
Since that first day that I obtained
A diary and vowed
To keep (as I informed my wife)
"The Records of a Simple Life."
Within it I resolved to state,
Like Mr. Pepys of yore,
The things that I, for instance, ate
And she, my Mary, wore,
Facts that would have a curious worth
When I was famed and—under earth.
And generations yet unborn
Would feel a thrill to note
How I upon an April morn
Left off my overcoat,
Or showed a pardonable spleen
At having missed the 9.16.
Nine volumes I've commenced at least
To write with eager pen;
The first, I note, abruptly ceased
On January 10,
While yesteryear the break occurred,
I think, upon the 23rd.
But this year, I am proud to see,
Stands not as others stood;
The prospects of posterity
Are really rather good,
Now that my zeal (not on the ebb)
Has borne me safely into Feb.