So they've put him outside
Of a bottle of Rye,
And they've set him to ride
A mustang as kin shy,
To keep up his poor circulation; and
that's the last chance for Bill Nye.
But a near thing it is,
And the camp's in the dust.
He's a pard as we'd miss
If poor Bill was to bust -
If the last of the Nyes were a-sleepin
the peaceable sleep of the just.
LETTER: From Professor Forth to the Rev. Mr. Casaubon.
The delicacy of the domestic matters with which the following
correspondence deals cannot be exaggerated. It seems that Belinda
(whose Memoirs we owe to Miss Rhoda Broughton) was at Oxford while
Mr. and Mrs. Casaubon were also resident near that pleasant city,
so famed for its Bodleian Library. Professor Forth and Mr.
Casaubon were friends, as may be guessed; their congenial
characters, their kindred studies, Etruscology and Mythology,
combined to ally them. Their wives were not wholly absorbed in
their learned pursuits, and if Mr. Ladislaw was dangling after Mrs.
Casaubon, we know that Mr. Rivers used to haunt with Mrs. Forth the
walks of Magdalen. The regret and disapproval which Mrs. Casaubon
expresses, and her desire to do good to Mrs. Forth, are, it is
believed, not alien to her devoted and exemplary character.
Bradmore-road, Oxford, May 29.
Dear Mr. Casaubon,--In the course of an investigation which my
researches into the character of the Etruscan "Involuti" have
necessitated, I frequently encounter the root Kad, k2ad, or Qad.
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