''Where is the use of fun?' said the cockchafer to the boy who was spinning it,'
said Anne.
'Impertinence, impertinence, impertinence,' said Rupert, shaking his head at her.
By this time all was ready, and Elizabeth called the brother and sister to take their places at the table in the inner drawing-room. She then wrote a substantive at the upper end of a long strip of paper, and folding it down, handed it on to Lucy, who also wrote a noun, turned it down, and gave the paper to Helen, who, after writing hers and hiding it, passed it on to Rupert. Thus the paper was handed round till it was filled. It was then unrolled, and each player was required to write a copy of verses in which these words were to be introduced as rhymes in the order in which they stood in the list. Rupert was rather put out by his sister's not allowing him to turn the poem in the way he wished, and he thought proper to find fault with half the words in the list.
'HARROGATE,' said he, 'what is to be done with such a word ?'
'You can manage it very well if you choose,' said Elizabeth.
'But who could have thought of such a word?' said he, holding up the list to the candle, and scrutinizing the writing. 'Some one with a watery taste, doubtless.'
'You know those things are never divulged,' said Anne.
'FRANCES, too,' continued Rupert, 'there is another impossible case; I will answer for it, Helen wrote that, a reminiscence of dear Dykelands.'
'No, indeed I did not,' said Helen; 'it is FRANCIS, too, I believe.'
'Oh yes,' said Harriet, 'it is FRANCIS, I wrote it, because--do not you remember, Lucy?--Frank Hollis--'
'Well, never mind,' said Elizabeth, who wished to hear no more of that gentleman; 'you may make it whichever you please. And Rupert, pray do not be so idle; put down the list, no one can see it; write your own verses, and tell me the next word to witch'
'EYES,' said Rupert, 'and then BOUNCE. I do not believe that word is English.'
'BOUNCE, no,' said Katherine; 'it is BONNET, I wrote it myself.'
'Then why do you make your 't' so short?' said Rupert; 'I must give you a writing lesson, Miss Kitty.'
'I must give you a lesson in silence, Mr. Rupert,' said Elizabeth.
'I obey,' said Rupert, with a funny face of submission, and taking up his paper and pencil; but in a minute or two he started up, exclaiming, 'What are they saying about Oxford?' and walked into the next room, intending to take part in the conversation between his father and uncle. Mr. Woodbourne, however, who was no great admirer of Rupert's forwardness, did not shew so much deference to his nephew's opinion as to make him very unwilling to return to the inner drawing-room, when Anne came to tell him that all the poems were finished, and Elizabeth ready to read them aloud.
'So this is all that you have to shew for yourself,' said Elizabeth, holding up a scrap of paper; 'what is all this?'
'A portrait of Miss Merton,' said Rupert; 'do not you see the poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling?'
'Is it?' said Elizabeth; 'I took it for Miss Squeers in the agonies of death, as I see that is the subject of the poem--all that there is of it, at least.
Did ever you see a stupider POEM? Pray who is the author? I know him, I know him, He went to school to Mr. Squeers, Who often made the youth shed TEARS.
Now for the next, which is nearly as short.
I will write a POEM,
Clear and flowing,
It will make you shed TEARS,
And excite your fears.
'Tis about a witch,
Drowned in a ditch,
Your tears come from your EYES.
If you are wise,
Don't make a BOUNCE,
Or you'll tear your flounce,
And upset the sugar JAR,
Which I cannot spare,
I must give some to FRANCIS,
So well he dances;
Sugar canes packed up in LEAVES,
The canes are tied up like wheat sheaves;
Francis wears a scarlet JACKET,
He made a dreadful racket
At HARROGATE,
