In him a great philanthropist we see, The friend of negro wench and stable boys, He taught the gentle art of perjury, To get convictions every vice employs. This reminds me of Longfellow (it is so different): TO A CERTAIN EXPERT. I’m an expert. I raise chickens, so I know about a “quill,” How it writes and what you think of while you sign a note or “bill,” I’ll appear against or for you; either side without regard, I can tell my favorite rooster by his claw marks in the yard. Two wings this fowl possesses; o-“pinions” two have I There’s one for you, or one for him, for any who will buy. Like him, I love to “scratch” in dirt. I’m crooked as his walk, I “plume” myself, and like my hens I cackle when I talk, I’m “hatching” out a plot just now, really it’s very funny, It’s all a guess—ridiculous—but then, I need the money. Some lyrics found their way into those columns. Here is only one of them, for I fear your interest, like the newspaper itself, has ceased: TO HER PHOTOGRAPH. Painted by sunlight, all the brightness caught, From out the sky and to my prison brought. No vision, essence, song, so sweet by half, As smiles to me from out her photograph. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _CHAPTER V_ _Fads_ The Death-Chamber is well worth studying. Our community is certainly interesting. Already I have made a discovery. Every one of us is busy. Here are many languages, temperaments, and moods, but we all have our fancies and our fads. For instance, there is the Italian next door who makes gorgeous picture frames from scraps of paper, decorating them with colored pencils; these are considerately furnished by the State to prevent him from going crazy. His creations are wonderful, and as his mood at present is devoutly religious, his cage looks like a cathedral. Many are the saints that smile benignly and beckon hospitably; and yet Larry does not want to join them. The religious mood is usually the last of a progression beginning with despair. It is in the latter frame of mind that new arrivals appear. Then there is the studious period, with which I struggle just now, when one reads a great deal and works out chess problems with bits of paper on a home-made board.