SIX WEEKS IN A TOWER. 91 



particular cell. On returning to our room I found 

 that he had been perspiring freely, and was sunk in 

 deep, quiet sleep, which assured me that, when I was 

 watching on the roof, the crisis of his fever had safely 

 passed, and he would go on improving from that hour. 

 Thus, when times appeared at the worst, they began 

 to mend. I wearied myself to sleep after this, by 

 writing some verses. They are not brilliant, but I 

 daresay Mr Martin Tupper himself would not have 

 done much better in the circumstances : 



I hear the long-drawn sigh of pain, 

 The tossing on the bed in vain, 



The muttered words of fear, 

 As by his spectre-haunted bed, 

 And round his fever-stricken head, 



Strange memories appear. 



Into the damp and sullen night 

 There breaks a sudden flash of light, 



As, through his gateway bars, 

 The timid Chinaman explodes 

 His half-a-dozen gingall loads 



Against the unseen stars. 



Surely upon the mist-swept sod 

 Some powers of darkness are abroad, 



Or in the midnight sky ; 

 And in the night-wind, damp and chill, 

 The presence of mysterious ill 



Seems slowly sweeping by. 



