“Oh! where are the roses that clustered and spread
Round the porch where my wishes were told?
Alas! from the porch all the roses have fled,
And the hands that once plucked them are cold.
“Oh! where are the friends, the young, thoughtless, and gay,
Who gave life to the garden and hall?
All, all have departed—all, all passed away,
Save the ivy that clings to the wall.
“Be glad, my fond heart—there is hope for you yet,
For these leaves have a comfort convey’d;
There are moments and pleasures I ne’er can forget,
Though both roses and friends have decayed.
“Though this breast be a ruin where sorrow hath cast
Desolations she cannot recal;
Still mem’ry shall cling to the joys that are past,
Like the ivy that clings to the wall.”
“I tell you, Dr. Tourniquet, you’re completely in error,” exclaimed Fortyfolios. “The meaning of the word United Service is evident, and admits of no dispute. In old authors we frequently read of people ‘going to service,’ and as often of a union of offices in the same person, such as butler and steward, valet and footman, gardener and groom; and there cannot be a doubt that this is what was called united service, and that this building was dedicated to the purpose of finding situations for such people.”
“Dedicated to a fiddle-stick. Don’t you see?” replied the doctor. “I tell you it was a club that met there to play at cards, and that was the reason that they had a king of clubs, and a queen of clubs, and a knave of clubs, and ever so many other clubs; and as a qualification, all the members were obliged to be club-footed, and they were governed by what they called club law.”
“’T was no such thing, Dr. Tourniquet, depend upon it,” said the professor. “I’m sure ’t was the united service, because I have a book in my library that mentions it as the United Service.”
“And I’m sure it was a club, because I’ve got a book in my library that mentions it as a club,” responded the other.
“Then the building opposite was devoted to very different purposes,” continued Fortyfolios. “It was called the Athenæum, the derivation of which word I have never been able to discover. Perhaps it had its origin in the Modern Athens, a place of some importance in the neighbourhood of Blackwood’s Magazine—once a famous depôt for combustibles, that blew up occasionally with great damage. However, it was erected for the purpose of bringing together all the intelligence of the country.