And he saw his secretarial clerk, One Wilford (Norman Forbes), Go prying about in the ancient room Hung round with family daubs; And he "went" forthwith for that timid clerk, Whose name was Norman Forbes. "By hell!" he shrieked, and held him fast; "Untrusty youth, unstable--" He raved in his face and clenched his fists, And chased him round the table. "Wouldst read the secret? wouldst hear thy doom?" "I would, an I were able!" "If thou wert Abel, then I were Cain! But, 'fore I tell thee, swear--" And he swore and he swore and he swore again, Till on end arose our hair; And I couldn't help thinking what fines he'd have paid If there'd been a magistrate there. And that very night, when a somnolent snooze Was exciting the murderer's nose, Poor Wilford rose up, and he hied him away In a scanty assortment of clothes; And the baronet rummaged and routed his trunk, As we do when our "general" goes. And there he hid a fork and spoon In a most ingenious way, And a ring or so and a deed or two, And Wilford was tried next day; But the KNIFE had slipped in, and--ha, ha!--'twas found! * * * * * And that's the plot of the play! C. S. * * * * * The peculiar rhythm, and quaint conceits of fancy, in Hood's _Miss Kilmansegg and her Precious Leg_ have been admirably imitated by Mr. H. Cholmondeley Pennell in _The Thread of Life_. This poem (the last in _Puck on Pegasus_) resembles its original also in the exquisite blending of the pathetic and the humorous, of which, unfortunately, disjointed extracts can give but a faint idea:-- LIFE! What depths of mystery wide In the oceans of Hate and the rivers of Pride, That mingle in Tribulations tide, To quench the spark--VITALITY! What chords of Love and "bands" of Hope Were "made strong" (without the use of rope) In the thread--INDIVIDUALITY. LIFE! What marvellous throbs and throes The Alchemy of EXISTENCE knows; What "weals within wheels" (and woes without woahs!) Give sophistry a handle; Though Hare himself could be dipped in the well Where Truth's proverbial waters dwell, It would throw no more light on the vital spell Than a dip in the Polytechnic bell, Or the dip--a ha'penny candle. * * * * * Into being we come, in ones and twos, To be kissed, to be cuff'd, to obey, to abuse, Each destined to stand in another's shoes To whose heels we may come the nighest; This turns at once into Luxury's bed, Whilst that in a gutter lays his head, And this--in a house with a wooden lid And a roof that's none of the highest.