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           ’"

           Whycouldhenevergetmorethanacoupletatatime?Nowheneededsomethingtorhymewith:

           "YouwouldkeepHimstraightwithscience,thoHehadgonewrong

           before..."

           Well,anyway....

           "Youmetyourchildreninyourhome—’I’vefixeditup!’youcried,

           TookyourfiftyyearsofEurope,andthenvirtuously—died."

           "ThatwastoagreatextentTennyson’sidea,"camethelecturer’svoice."Swinburne’sSongintheTimeofOrdermightwellhavebeenTennyson’stitle.Heidealizedorderagainstchaos,againstwaste."

           AtlastAmoryhadit.Heturnedoveranotherpageandscrawledvigorouslyforthetwentyminutesthatwasleftofthehour.Thenhewalkeduptothedeskanddepositedapagetornoutofhisnote-book.

           "Here’sapoemtotheVictorians,sir,"hesaidcoldly.

           TheprofessorpickeditupcuriouslywhileAmorybackedrapidlythroughthedoor.

           Hereiswhathehadwritten:

           "Songsinthetimeoforder

           Youleftforustosing,

           Proofswithexcludedmiddles,

           Answerstolifeinrhyme,

           Keysoftheprisonwarder

           Andancientbellstoring,

           Timewastheendofriddles,

           Weweretheendoftime...

           Hereweredomesticoceans

           Andaskythatwemightreach,

           Gunsandaguardedborder,

           Gantlets—butnottofling,

           Thousandsofoldemotions

           Andaplatitudeforeach,

           Songsinthetimeoforder—

           Andtongues,thatwemightsing."

           THEENDOFMANYTHINGS

           EarlyAprilslippedbyinahaze—ahazeoflongeveningsontheclubverandawiththegraphophoneplaying"PoorButterfly"inside...