inquire of Number 5 what was the particular bearing
of these masterly lines upon the history of Jack and Jill. I can
picture the smile of pitying contempt with which such a preposterous
question would have been met. And I observe by the figures noted at the
back of this poem that it received very few marks short of the highest
award.

Number 6 posed as democratic poet, who appealed to the ear of the
populace in terms to which they are best accustomed.

'Twas a lovely day in August, at the top of Ludgate Hill
I met a gay young couple, and I think I see them still;
They were drinking at the fountain to cool their parching lips,
And they said to one another, looking up between their sips--

_Chorus_--I'd sooner have it hot, love; I'd rather have it hot;
It's nicer with the chill off--much nicer, is it not?

They took a four-wheel growler for a drive all round the town,
And told the knowing cabby not to let his _gee-gee_ down;
But they'd scarcely got to Fleet Street when their off-hind-wheel went
bang,
And they pitched on to the kerb-stone, while the crowd around them
sang--

_Chorus_--I'm glad you've got it hot, love; I'm pleased you've got
it hot;
It's nicer with the chill off--much nicer, is it not?

Moral.

Now all you gay young couples, list to my fond appeal,
Beware of four-wheel growlers with spokes in their off-hind-wheel;
And when you go up Ludgate Hill, all on a summer day,
Don't drink much at the fountain; or if you do, I say--
Be sure and take it hot, love; be sure and take it hot;
It's nicer with the chill off--much nicer, is it not?

This poem was not highly marked, although Number 6 confessed he had sat
up all night writing it. He thought we had missed the underlying
philosophy of his version, and was sorry for it. As he said, the first
essential of a poem is that it should be read, and he believed no one
could deny that he had at least written up to that requirement.

There was a more serious moral hidden in Number 7's version, which was
stated to be on the models of the early sonnets:--

Two lovers on one common errand bound,
One common fate o'erwhelms; and so, me-seems,
A fable have we of our daily round,
Who in these groves of learning here are found
Climbing Parnassus' slopes. Our aim is one,
And one the path by which we strive to soar;
Yet, truer still, or ere the prize be won,
A common ruin hurls us to our doom.
'Twere