as played.'

'Your writing is well disguised indeed,' said the lawyer, comparing it
with the letters; 'it solves that difficulty.'

'Any thing else?' demanded Rust, impatiently; 'my time is limited.'

Holmes shook his head; but Harson said: 'A few words about Jacob
Rhoneland.'

'Well?'

'You accuse him of forgery; what does that mean?'

'He was a fool: I wanted to marry his daughter; I represented myself to
him as very rich, to tempt his avarice; that failed. I added entreaties;
_they_ failed. Then I tried the effect of fear. He was not deaf to that
for a long time, but at last he overcame even that.'

'And the tale?'

'Was well fabricated, but false.'

'And Ned Somers?'

'I had to get rid of him: what could I do while he was dallying round the
girl? I _did_ get rid of him: a few lies whispered to the old man sent him
adrift. But I'm tired of this; I came to tell what I pleased, and nothing
more, and I must be at work. You must respect your promise,' said he,
turning to Holmes.

'I shall, and I hope your present errand at least is an honest one.'

'It is,' said Rust, with a strange smile; 'it is to punish a criminal.' He
opened the door and went off without another word.

NIGHT AND MORNING.

'To-morrow to fresh fields and pastures new!'

LYCIDAS.

Yes! I have been for many a changeful year,
Studious or sensual, gay or wild, or sad,
An earnest votary of Evening. She
Had something wondrous winning to my eye,
So soft she was, and quiet. Often too,
Absorbed in books, which were perchance a bane,
Perchance a blessing; or in glittering crowds,
Gazing all rapt on woman's eloquent face,
Nature's most witching and most treacherous page;
Or high in mirth with those whose senseful wit
Outflashed the rosy wines that warmed its flow,
I've held my vigils till the brow of Night
Grew pale and starless, and her solemn pomp,
Out-glared by day, faded in hueless space.
I do repent me of my worship. Night
Was given for rest: who breaks this natural law
Wrongs body and soul alike. One vigorous hour
Of sober day-light thought is worth a night's
Slow oscitations of a drowsy mind.
'Neath Eve's pale star the desolate heart reverts
To those far moments, when the sky was blue,
And earth was green, as earth and sky to eyes
Once disenchanted, can appear no more.

We _all_ are mourners. Good men must