This elegy was composed on the back of a ‘London Electricity’ envelope on the Saturday night in a pub; the question one might ask is, does it show? Is the poetical genius of Todd such that even in the least propitious circumstances he is still able to shower us with golden streams of euphonious lore? Well, I think that it is best for the reader to decide the answer to this question: I will merely remark on the rather uncharacteristic failure on the artist’s part to get a cheap laugh out of my abortive publishing project (too many ales? A misguided sense of loyalty? We may never know) (CH).