midnights
He was short and thick and middle-aged , and had a very jolly red face and immense whiskers -- quite a common sort of man , who seemed by no means tired of life . His heroism was wasted , as it happened ; for the house was an empty one , as we all heard , to our immense relief , before he had managed to force a passage into the burning room . His whiskers were not even singed ! Nevertheless , I slunk home , and gave up all thoughts of self-destruction -- even in a noble cause ; and there , in penance , I somewhat hastily committed to flame the plodding labor of many midnights -- an elaborate copy in pen and ink , line for line , of Retel 's immortal wood-engraving `` Der Tod als Freund , '' which Mrs. Lintot had been kind enough to lend me -- and under which I had written , in beautiful black Gothic letters and red capitals -LRB- and without the slightest sense of either humor or irreverence -RRB- , the following poem , which had cost me infinite pains : _ F , i , fi -- n , i , ni ! Bon dieu Père , j' ai fini ... Vous qui m ` avez lant puni , Dans ma triste vie , Pour tant d'horribles forfaits Que je ne commis jamais Laissez-moi jouir en paix De mon agonie ! _