The asylum inmate muttered some doggerel about chains and pains to himself, over and over.

It was to help solve a serious problem – mice. For the little vermin were chewing letters containing banknotes and postal orders, especially at the Money Order Office (MOO).

The unsufficiency and uncandidness of his answer became painfully apparent in the dead silence of the room.

The fable of every poem is, according to Aristotle’s division, either simple or implex. It is called simple when there is no change of fortune in it; implex, when the fortune of the chief actor changes from bad to good, or from good to bad. The implex fable is thought most perfect: I suppose, because it is more proper to stir up the passion of the reader, and to surprise him with a greater variety of accidents.