The book is finished! With a sigh,
My pen upon the desk I lay;
The weary task is o'er, and I
Am off upon a holiday,
To Paris, lovely Paris, where
I have a little ventr’ - a-terre.
And tho’ my verses may be weak,
And call for your severest strictures,
The illustrations are unique,—
I really never saw such pictures!
( At times, in my unthinking way,
I almost hope I never may. )