They talk of deeds (of the parchment kind)—­
    Sing Ha—­ha! and Ho-ho! there! 
  The heavy father, to reason blind,
    Has them with him to show there! 
  The deeds relate to the old man’s will;
  The villain wants them to pay a bill! 
  The night is cold, and the night is still
    Let the music be slow there!

  They stand alone in the pale-green light—­
    Sing Hey—­hey! and he—­he! there! 
  What is this flashing so keen and bright? 
    What is this that I see there? 
  Oh! deed of darkness in light descried! 
  Oh! villain thrice damn’d that blade to hide,
  Right ’tween the arm on the farther side—­
    Certain death when it be there!

  They’re still alone on the moonlit spot—­
    Sing He—­he! and Hey—­hey! there! 
  Though one is Standing,[1] and one is not,
    For one’s cold as the clay there! 
  The villain covers the dead man’s stare—­
  The corpse lies stiff in the limelight’s glare! 
  The act is done!—­and for all I care,
    The dead body can stay there!

[Footnote 1:  HERBERT.]

* * * * *

TO MY LUGGAGE-LABELS.

  Wonderful pictures of purple and gold,
    Ultramarine, and vermilion, and bistre;
  Splendid inscriptions of hostels untold,
    Touching memorials breathing of “Mr.;”
  “Schweizerhof,” “Bernerhof,” “Hofs” by the score;
    Signs of the Bear and the Swan, and the Bellevue,
  Gasthaus, Albergo, Posada, galore—­
    Beautiful wrecks, how I wish I could shelve you!

  Visions of Venice—­her stones and her smells! 
    Whiffs of Cologne—­aromatic mementos;
  Visiting cards, so to speak, of hotels;
    Como’s, Granada’s, Zermatt’s and Sorrento’s
  Ah! how ye cling to my boxes and bags,
    Glued with a pigment that baffles removal;
  Dogged adherents in dirt and in rags;
    Labels, receive my profane disapproval!

  Much as I prized you, when roaming afield,
    Loved you, when Life was metheglyn and skittles,
  Wished you the spell of remembrance to wield,
    Calling the scenery back and the victuals;
  Still, when it blows and it rains, and it irks,
    Here in apartments adjoining a seaview,
  After a meal that would terrify Turks,
    Somehow I feel I can scarcely believe you.

  Yes!  It’s too much to remember the past—­
    Here, amid shrimps, and agilities nameless;
  Glaciers gigantic, and Restaurants vast
    Chime not with sands and a tablecloth shameless;
  Smoking a pestilent, sea-side cigar,
    Mewed in a lodging with children and nurses,
  Epitaphs gorgeous of far “Dolce far,”
    Curse you with paterfamiliar curses!

* * * * *

THE UGLY FACE:  A MORAL DUTY

[Illustration:  “A ready-made Comedian with fifty quid a week.”]