Louisa May Alcott.
From a daguerreotype.
Page 160.
With all her love for her father, irreverent Louisa delighted in making fun of him. The complacent philosopher, with his voluminous journals, his several books in manuscript, his liking, despite the brilliancy of his conversations, for the written rather than the spoken word, was a wasteful user of paper and a careless dispenser of ink. That her father enjoyed her good-natured banter is shown by the fact that in his journal he has entered the following poem, written by Louisa at nineteen:
From Louisa on my 52nd birthday.
Nov. 29th, 1851.
To Father.
A cloth on the table where dear Plato sits
By one of the Graces was spread
With the single request that he would not design
New patterns with black ink or red.
And when he is soaring away in the clouds
I beg he'll remember and think
Though the "blackbirds" are fair his cloth will be fairer
For not being deluged with ink.
May plenty of paper of pens and of quiet
To my dear pa forever be given
Till he has written such piles that when on the top
He can walk calmly on into Heaven.