THE SCREEN IN THE LUMBER ROOM.

Yes, here it is, behind the box,

That puzzle wrought so neatly —

That paradise of paradox —

We once knew so completely;

You see it?‘ Tis the same, I swear,

Which stood, that chill September,

Beside your aunt Lavinia's chair

The year when... You remember?

Look, Laura, look! You must recall

This florid “Fairy's Bower,”

This wonderful Swiss waterfall,

And this old “Leaning Tower;”

And here's the “Maiden of Cashmere,”

And here is Bewick's “Starling,”

And here the dandy cuirassier

You thought was “such a Darling!”

Your poor dear Aunt! you know her way,

She used to say this figure

Reminded her of Count D'Orsay

“In all his youthful vigour;”

And here's the “cot beside the hill”

We chose for habitation,

The day that... But I doubt if still

You'd like the situation!

Too damp — by far! She little knew,

Your guileless Aunt Lavinia,

Those evenings when she slumbered through

“The Prince of Abyssinia,”

That there were two beside her chair

Who both had quite decided

To see things in a rosier air

Than Rasselas provided!

Ah! men wore stocks in Britain's land,

And maids short waists and tippets,

When this old-fashioned screen was planned

From hoarded scraps and snippets;

But more — far more, I think — to me

Than those who first designed it,

Is this — in Eighteen Seventy-Three

I kissed you first behind it.