Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone!
That could not do me ill;

And yet I feared him all the more,
For lying there so still:

There was a manhood in his look,
That murder could not kill!

And lo! the universal air

Seemed lit with ghastly flame;
Ten thousand, thousand dreadful eyes
Were looking down in blame:
I took the dead man by his hand,
And called upon his name!

O God! it made me quake to see
Such sense within the slain!
But when I touched the lifeless clay,
The blood gushed out amain!
For every clot, a burning spot
Was scorching in my brain!

My head was like an ardent coal,
My heart as solid ice;

My wretched, wretched soul, I knew,
Was at the Devil's price:

A dozen times I groaned: the dead
Had never groaned but twice.

And now, from forth the frowning sky
From the Heaven's topmost height,
I heard a voice the awful voice
Of the blood-avenging sprite:
Thou guilty man! take up thy dead,
And hide it from my sight.

I took the dreary body up,

And cast it in a stream,

A sluggish water, black as ink,
The depth was so extreme:
My gentle boy, remember this
Is nothing but a dream.

Down went the corse with a hollow plunge,
And vanished in the pool;

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,
And washed my forehead cool,

And sat among the urchins young
That evening in the school.

O Heaven! to think of their white souls,
And mine so black and grim!

I could not share in childish prayer,
Nor join in evening hymn:

Like a devil of the pit I seemed
With holy cherubim !

And peace went with them one and all,
And each calm pillow spread;

But Guilt was my grim chamberlain
That lighted me to bed;

And drew my midnight curtains round
With fingers bloody red!

All night I lay in agony,

In anguish dark and deep,

My fevered eyes I dared not close,
But stared aghast at Sleep:

For Sin had rendered unto her
The Keys of Hell to keep!

All night I lay in agony,

From weary chime to chime, With one besetting horrid hint

That racked me all the time; A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime!

One stern tyrannic thought that made
All other thoughts its slave;
Stronger and stronger every pulse
Did that temptation crave,
Still urging me to go and see
The dead man in his grave!

Heavily I rose up as soon

As light was in the sky,

And sought the black, accursed pool
With a wild misgiving eye;
And I saw the Dead in the river bed,
For the faithless stream was dry.

Merrily rose the lark, and shook

The dew-drop from its wing;

But I never marked its morning flight, I never heard it sing:

For I was stooping once again

Under the horrid thing.

With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,
I took him up and ran;
There was no time to dig a grave
Before the day began:

In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves
I hid the murdered man!

Among Hood's humorous and satirical poems, none gives us a better idea of his manysidedness and the versatility of his genius, than the story of Miss Kilmansegg and her precious Leg; the intention of which is to ridicule purse-pride and vulgar love of display. The heroine fractures her leg badly when out riding, and the injured limb being amputated, she insists on replacing it by a golden leg, as a means of advertising her great wealth, and at the same time of attracting suitors. She finds a husband, but soon discovers that riches are not necessarily allied with domestic happiness; and one day the gentleman, in a violent passion, seizes the costly limb, and knocks out her brains with it, while she is lying in bed. Impossible as it is to give, by a brief extract, any adequate idea of the wit, the odd fancies, and we will even add, the philosophy of this pretty long poem, we cannot refrain from quoting the description of Miss Kilmansegg's happy parents, as they appeared at her christening:

To paint the maternal Kilmansegg

The pen of an Eastern Poet would beg,
And need an elaborate sonnet;

How she sparkled with gems whenever she stirr'd
And her head niddle-noddled at every word,
And seem'd so happy, a Paradise Bird

Had nidificated upon it.

And Sir Jacob the father strutted and bow'd,
And smiled to himself, and laughed aloud,
To think of his heiress and daughter;
And then in his pockets he made a grope,
And then, in the fulness of joy and hope,
Seem'd washing his hands with invisible soap
In imperceptible_water.*)

In one of Hood's minor poems, he humorously exposes some of the petty hypocrisies of social life. It is called Domestic Asides, or Truth in Parentheses:

I really take it very kind,

This visit, Mrs. Skinner!

I have not seen you such an age
[The wretch has come to dinner!]

*) Humorous description of his rubbing his hands together to express his delight.

Your daughters, too, what loves of girls!
What heads for painters' easels!
Come here, and kiss the infant, dears
[And give it perhaps the measles.]

Your charming boys, I see, are home
From Reverend Mr. Russell's;
'Twas very kind to bring them both

[What boots for my new Brussels !]

What! little Clara left at home?
Well now I call that shabby:
I should have loved to kiss her so
[A flabby, dabby babby!]

And Mr. S. I hope he's well;

Ah! though he lives so handy,
He never now drops in to sup
[The better for our brandy!]

Come, take a seat

I long to hear
Ábout Matilda's marriage;

You're come of course to spend the day!
[Thank Heaven! I hear the carriage.]

What! must you go? next time, I hope,
You'll give me longer measure;

Nay I shall see you down the stairs
[With most uncommon pleasure!]

Good-bye, good-bye, remember all,

Next time, you'll take your dinners!
[Now, David, mind I'm not at home
In future to the Skinners!]

Many of Hood's shorter effusions, such as, I'm going to Bombay, were prompted by the passing incidents of the day. A letter under a pseudonym had appeared in the Times newspaper, in which the writer, a lady and a mother, complained of the ever increasing difficulty of marrying young ladies at the present day. She had herself three very accomplished daughters, she added, but could find no chance of disposing of them in marriage, and was thus compelled to solicit good advice. Advice soon came, in the form of a reply from a gentleman who had just returned from India, and the counsel he gave to her and to