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THE MAHOGANY TREE


[Illustration: _This characteristic picture of the author of "The
Mahogany Tree" is reproduced from a drawing made by the distinguished
illustrator, Mr. Edmund Dulac, for the cover of the menu of a dinner
of the Titmarsh Club of London. It is reprinted here by Mr. Dulac's
very kind permission._]


THE MAHOGANY TREE

by

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY







New York
Privately Printed
Christmas 1910




The Mahogany Tree


_"Some years since" said Thackeray in a public speech, "when I was
younger, and used to frequent jolly assemblies, I wrote a Bacchanalian
song to be chanted after dinner;" and a contemporary record has
preserved a note of "the radiant gratification of his face whilst
Horace Mayhew sang The Mahogany Tree, perhaps the finest and most
soul-stirring of Thackeray's social songs."_

_In seeking a Souvenir of this Christmas season the ballad of "The
Mahogany Tree" lends itself most felicitously to the present purpose
which is to_

  "--_wish you health, and love and mirth,
  As fits the solemn Christmas-tide_."

_Putting aside for an hour the affairs of a work-a-day world, let us
take our places around the convivial board, on the time-stained surface
of which we may find in fancy the initials of so many boon companions
of other days cut deep._

_It is pleasant to sport "round the stem of the jolly old tree" in
congenial company, and to renew our youth at the bidding of this
gracious Toastmaster, the centennial of whose birth we shall celebrate
presently; the anniversary of whose death was yester-e'en._

_But while remembering that we shall be none the worse tomorrow for
having been happy today, we are not permitted to forget entirely the
Blue-devil Sprite that awaits the dawn. The play-spell is over; the
lights are out in Vanity Fair; and here in Mr. Dulac's drawing is
the leader of our Christmas Chorus as he shuts up the box and the
puppets--"for our play is played out."_

  _C. M. F._

_Christmas 1910._




    THE MAHOGANY TREE


    Christmas is here:
    Winds whistle shrill,
    Icy and chill,
    Little care we:
    Little we fear
    Weather without,
    Sheltered about
    The Mahogany Tree

    Once on the boughs
    Birds of rare plume
    Sang, in its bloom;
    Night-birds are we:
    Here we carouse,
    Singing like them,
    Perched round the stem
    Of the jolly old tree.

    Here let us sport,
    Boys, as we sit;
    Laughter and wit
    Flashing so free.
    Life is but short--
    When we are gone,
    Let them sing on
    Round the old tree.

    Evenings we knew,
    Happy as this;
    Faces we miss,
    Pleasant to see.
    Kind hearts and true,
    Gentle and just,
    Peace to your dust!
    We sing round the tree.

    Care, like a dun,
    Lurks at the gate:
    Let the dog wait;
    Happy we'll be!
    Drink, every one;
    Pile up the coals,
    Fill the red bowls,
    Round the old tree!

    Drain we the cup--
    Friend, art afraid?
    Spirits are laid
    In the Red Sea.
    Mantle it up;
    Empty it yet;
    Let us forget,
    Round the old tree.

    Sorrows, begone!
    Life and its ills,
    Duns and their bills,
    Bid we to flee.
    Come with the dawn,
    Blue-devil sprite.
    Leave us to-night,
    Round the old tree.

  OF THIS BOOK 200 COPIES WERE
  PRINTED FOR THOMAS NAST
  FAIRBANKS BY HAL MARCHBANKS
  IN DECEMBER 1910




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Transcriber's note:

There were no changes made by the transcriber.