Yet, mark me! When a few short years Have hurried on their journey fleet, Not one that now my accents hears Will know me when we meet. Though now, perhaps, with proud disdain, The startling thought ye scarce will brook, Yet, trust me, we’ll be strangers then In heart as well as look. Fame’s luring voice, and woman’s wile, Will soon break youthful friendship’s chain— But shall that cloud to-night’s bright smile? No—pour the wine again! Mr. Bogart composed with singular rapidity, and would frequently astonish his companions by an improvisation equal to the elaborate performances of some poets of distinguished reputation. It was good-naturedly hinted on one occasion that his impromptus were prepared beforehand, and he was asked if he would submit to the application of a test of his poetical abilities. He promptly acceded, and a most difficult one was immediately proposed. Among his intimate friends were the late Colonel John B. Van Schaick and Charles Fenno Hoffman, both of whom were present. Said Van Schaick, taking up a copy of Byron, “The name of _Lydia Kane_”—a lady distinguished for her beauty and cleverness, who died a year or two since, but who was then just blushing into womanhood—“the name of Lydia Kane has in it the same number of letters as a stanza of ‘Childe Harold;’ write them down in a column.” They were so written by Bogart, Hoffman and himself. “Now,” he continued, “I will open the poem at random; and for the ends of the lines in Miss Lydia’s _acrostic_ shall be used the words ending those of the verse on which my finger may rest.” The stanza thus selected was this: And must they fall? the young, the proud, the brave, To swell one bloated chief’s unwholesome reign? No step between submission and a grave? The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain? And doth the Power that man adores ordain Their doom, nor heed the suppliant’s appeal? Is all that desperate valor acts in vain? And counsel sage, and patriotic zeal, The veteran’s skill, youth’s fire, and manhood’s heart of steel? The following stanza was composed by Bogart within the succeeding ten minutes—the period fixed in a wager—finished before his companions had reached a fourth line, and read to them as we print it— L ovely and loved, o’er the unconquered brave Y our charms resistless, matchless girl, shall reign! D ear as the mother holds her infant’s grave I n Love’s own region, warm, romantic Spain! A nd should your Fate to courts your steps ordain, K ings would in vain to regal pomp appeal, A nd lordly bishops kneel to you in vain, N or Valor’s fire, Law’s power, nor Churchman’s zeal E ndure ’gainst Love’s (time up!) untarnished steel!