He showed how murderers start and gasp When conscience pricks them sore; He dragged his shirt-front out by yards, And strewed it on the floor; He rolled his eyes, and clutched his breast-- He'd done it all before. If anybody mentioned death Or foul assassination, He started up and groaned or shrieked With obvious perturbation. 'Twas very strange this sudden change Provoked no observation. And when at last four acts were past Of stares and glares and guggles, And in the chest they found the knife Which he so neatly smuggles-- 'Twas ecstacy to see him die Of aggravated struggles. Q. SECOND PRIZE. The sky was clear; no ripple marked The course of silver Tyne; And all was still, save for the bells On the necks of the grazing kine. On his fair demesne Sir Edward looked, Last of an ancient line. His face was fair, but it did not wear The sign of a soul at rest; Anon a shudder shook his frame, A sigh broke from his breast; He seemed as seems a man by some O'ermastering woe oppressed. "And yet among thy peers is known Than thine no prouder name, And wealth is thine and friendship's joy, A scutcheon void of blame; All this is thine, Sir Edward; why Thus bow thy head in shame? "Men call thee good, they know thee kind-- Yet more, if aught beside There lacks thy happiness to crown, Thou hast a peerless bride; Why, then, Sir Edward, bow thy head?" A mocking demon cried. "Hell-hound! and art thou here to taunt My last--Yet 'tis thy meed: 'Twas thou that in this fevered breast Wrath and revenge didst feed, Till--woe unutterable!--I Wrought the accursèd deed. "'Twas at thy feet, a pupil apt, I learnt this lying art;-- O God, that I--that I could stoop To play this loathly part! O God, that with a face so calm I cloak so black a heart! Yet the end is gained and the secret sure: They shall lay the tortured clod Of this vile clay in the open day With honour beneath the sod." That night 'twas known that a felon's soul Had gone to meet its God. PORTIONISTA. The following was also published:-- 'Twas in the dim Lyceum pit (And, O, that pit was hot) That several hundred folks did sit, And I amongst the lot; And some drank ale and some drank stout, From mug or pewter-pot. We watched the jovial robber-crew, The merry poaching clan, Chasing the sportive deer about As only robbers can; While the keeper kept himself at home, A conscience-stricken man. His hair was long and his dress was dark, And he strode with Irving's stride; A crime unconfessed he hid in the chest Kept ever by his side; Much painting had made him very pale And wan and hollow-eyed.