Farewell! our skies are darkened and--yet the stars will shine, We 'll close our ranks together and still fall into line Till one is left, one only, to mourn for all the rest; And Heaven bequeath their memories to him who loves us best! THE ARCHBISHOP AND GIL BLAS A MODERNIZED VERSION 1879 I DON'T think I feel much older; I'm aware I'm rather gray, But so are many young folks; I meet 'em every day. I confess I 'm more particular in what I eat and drink, But one's taste improves with culture; that is all it means, I think. _Can you read as once you used to?_ Well, the printing is so bad, No young folks' eyes can read it like the books that once we had. _Are you quite as quick of hearing?_ Please to say that once again. _Don't I use plain words, your Reverence?_ Yes, I often use a cane, But it's not because I need it,--no, I always liked a stick; And as one might lean upon it, 't is as well it should be thick. Oh, I'm smart, I'm spry, I'm lively,--I can walk, yes, that I can, On the days I feel like walking, just as well as you, young man! _Don't you get a little sleepy after dinner every day?_ Well, I doze a little, sometimes, but that always was my way. _Don't you cry a little easier than some twenty years ago?_ Well, my heart is very tender, but I think 't was always so. _Don't you find it sometimes happens that you can't recall a name?_ Yes, I know such lots of people,--but my memory 's not to blame. What! You think my memory's failing! Why, it's just as bright and clear, I remember my great-grandma! She's been dead these sixty year! _Is your voice a little trembly?_ Well, it may be, now and then, But I write as well as ever with a good old-fashioned pen; It 's the Gillotts make the trouble,--not at all my finger-ends,-- That is why my hand looks shaky when I sign for dividends. _Don't you stoop a little, walking?_ It 's a way I 've always had, I have always been round-shouldered, ever since I was a lad. _Don't you hate to tie your shoe-strings?_ Yes, I own it--that is true. _Don't you tell old stories over?_ I am not aware I do. _Don't you stay at home of evenings? Don't you love a cushioned seat_ _In a corner, by the fireside, with your slippers on your feet?_ _Don't you wear warm fleecy flannels? Don't you muffle up your throat_ _Don't you like to have one help you when you're putting on your coat?_ _Don't you like old books you've dogs-eared, you can't remember when?_ _Don't you call it late at nine o'clock and go to bed at ten?_ _How many cronies can you count of all you used to know_ _Who called you by your Christian name some fifty years ago?_ _How look the prizes to you that used to fire your brain?_ _You've reared your mound-how high is it above the level plain?_ _You 've drained the brimming golden cup that made your fancy reel,_ _You've slept the giddy potion off,--now tell us how you feel!_