Of what past as the Monk and the Patient conferred, But he here and there managed to pick up a word, Such as "Knife," And "Life," And he thought she said "Wife," And "Money," that source of all evil and strife;[61] Then he plainly distinguished the words "Gore," and "Gash," Whence he deem'd--and I don't think his inference rash-- She had cut some one's throat for the sake of his cash! Intermix'd with her moans, And her sighs, and her groans, Enough to have melted the hearts of the stones, Came at intervals Basil's sweet, soft silver tones, For somehow it happened--I can't tell you why-- The good Friar's indignation,--at first rather high,-- To judge from the language he used in reply, Ere the Old Woman ceased, had a good deal gone by; And he gently addrest her in accents of honey, "Daughter, don't you despair!--WHAT'S BECOME OF THE MONEY?" In one just at Death's door it was really absurd To see how her eye lighted up at that word-- Indeed there's not one in the language that I know, (Save its synonyms "Spanish," "Blunt," "Stumpy," and "Rhino,") Which acts so direct, And with so much effect On the human _sensorium_, or makes one erect One's ears so, as soon as the sound we detect-- It's a question with me Which of the three, Father Basil himself, though a grave S. T. P. (Such as he have, you see, the degree of D.D.) Or the eaves-dropping, bandy-legg'd Tailor,--or She Caught it quickest--however, traditions agree That the Old Woman perked up as brisk as a bee,-- 'Twas the last quivering flare of the taper,--the fire It so often emits when about to expire! Her excitement began the same instant to flag, She sank back, and whisper'd, "Safe!--Safe! in the Bag!!"