“Few lovers have the privilege enjoyed, my dear, by you, Of chopping off a rival’s head and quartering him too! Of vengeance, dear, to-morrow you will surely take your fill!” And GILBERT ground his molars as he answered her, “I will!” Young GILBERT rose from table with a stern determined look, And, frowning, took an inexpensive hatchet from its hook; And ANNIE watched his movements with an interested air— For the morrow—for the morrow he was going to prepare! He chipped it with a hammer and he chopped it with a bill, He poured sulphuric acid on the edge of it, until This terrible Avenger of the Majesty of Law Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw. And ANNIE said, “O GILBERT, dear, I do not understand Why ever you are injuring that hatchet in your hand?” He said, “It is intended for to lacerate and flay The neck of that unmitigated villain PETER GRAY!” “Now, GILBERT,” ANNIE answered, “wicked headsman, just beware— I won’t have PETER tortured with that horrible affair; If you appear with that, you may depend you’ll rue the day.” But GILBERT said, “Oh, shall I?” which was just his nasty way. He saw a look of anger from her eyes distinctly dart, For ANNIE was a woman, and had pity in her heart! She wished him a good evening—he answered with a glare; She only said, “Remember, for your ANNIE will be there!” * * * * * * * * The morrow GILBERT boldly on the scaffold took his stand, With a vizor on his face and with a hatchet in his hand, And all the people noticed that the Engine of the Law Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw. The felon very coolly loosed his collar and his stock, And placed his wicked head upon the handy little block. The hatchet was uplifted for to settle PETER GRAY, When GILBERT plainly heard a woman’s voice exclaiming, “Stay!” ’Twas ANNIE, gentle ANNIE, as you’ll easily believe. “O GILBERT, you must spare him, for I bring him a reprieve, It came from our Home Secretary many weeks ago, And passed through that post-office which I used to keep at Bow. “I loved you, loved you madly, and you know it, GILBERT CLAY, And as I’d quite surrendered all idea of PETER GRAY, I quietly suppressed it, as you’ll clearly understand, For I thought it might be awkward if he came and claimed my hand. “In anger at my secret (which I could not tell before), To lacerate poor PETER GRAY vindictively you swore; I told you if you used that blunted axe you’d rue the day, And so you will, young GILBERT, for I’ll marry PETER GRAY!” [_And so she did_. AN UNFORTUNATE LIKENESS. I’VE painted SHAKESPEARE all my life— “An infant” (even then at “play”!) “A boy,” with stage-ambition rife, Then “Married to ANN HATHAWAY.”