id="Page_29" class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[Pg 29]"/> broken the ice, the Dominie could do no less than speak out, and, all being willing, the two were soon converted into one; a good church was procured for him by the influence of the burgomaster, and they lived as happily as possible all their days."

"She was a determined damsel!" cried Cornelia; "I think she had brass enough to set up a foundry."

"Probably it was leap-year, Cornelia," replied Ellen; "you know it is then the ladies' privilege—great privilege, forsooth!—to pay attention to the lords of the creation."

"I hope, when women take advantage of their prescriptive rights, they will wear the Bloomer costume, and make themselves look as little like the rest of their sex as possible!" said Mary.

"Come, girls," cried Charlie Bolton, "you are too hard on that frank little Caterina; I approve of such conduct entirely, and some ten years hence, when I am ready to be appropriated, I shall certainly leave my slippers outside my door as a hint to whomsoever it may concern. It would save us men a great deal of trouble, if all girls were as sensible as Caterina."

"Us men, indeed! How long since?" said Cornelia.

"Ever since I got out of frocks and into trowsers," replied Charlie, laughing good-naturedly. He and Cornelia were always sparring, but never quarrelled.

In the evening they played at various games; among others, at writing rhymes. Each had a slip of paper, and would write a line, then double it down, and hand it to the next, telling the last word; the second person then added a line rhyming with the first, the third started a fresh rhyme, and so it went on. When read, it of course made the greatest farrago of nonsense imaginable. Ellen then proposed "Cento," a Spanish or Italian game, which requires great readiness of memory, and a large acquaintance with poetry. One person quotes a well-known line, the next another that rhymes with it, and so on, making some sort of connection whenever it can be done; but after trying it, and finding that only three or four of the eldest could think of appropriate passages, they voted Cento a bore, Cornelia remarking that there was great stupidity somewhere; of course they could not think it was in themselves, and therefore it must be in the game.

Mary said that there was another game requiring a good memory, but the advantage of it was, that the more you forgot the more merriment you made; if you were not witty yourself, you were the cause of wit in others. It was called Genteel Lady, and was played by one person politely bowing to his neighbor, and reciting a certain formula, which must be repeated, with an addition, by the next, and so round the circle; whenever the least mistake or omission was made, the person had to drop the title of Genteel Lady, or Genteel Gentleman, and putting a horn of twisted paper in the hair or button-hole, could now glory in the dignity of being a One-horned Lady or Gentleman. Very soon horns become so plenty that few can claim any gentility; as the description proceeds, and becomes more complicated, it is perfectly laughable, and the whole party look ludicrous enough.

"Here is a whole bundle of lamp-lighters," said Cornelia; "let us begin the game, I think it must be comical."

Mary bowed to Tom Green, and commenced. "Good evening, genteel gentleman, ever genteel, I, a genteel lady, ever genteel, come from that genteel lady, ever genteel, to tell you that she owns a little dog with hair on its back."

Tom bowed to Ellen: "Good evening, genteel lady, ever genteel, I, a genteel gentleman, ever genteel, come from that genteel lady, ever genteel (bowing to Mary), to tell you that she owns a little dog with hair on its back, and a red tongue in its mouth."

Ellen took up the play: "Good evening, genteel gentleman, ever genteel, I, a genteel lady, ever genteel, come from that genteel gentleman, ever genteel, to tell you that he owns a little dog with hair on its back, a red tongue in its mouth, and two ears on its head."

It was now Charlie Bolton's turn: "Good evening, genteel lady, ever genteel, I, a genteel gentleman, ever genteel, come from that genteel lady, ever genteel, to say that she owns a little dog with ears on its back, a tongue in its head, hair in its mouth, and a bone between its teeth."

"Charlie! Charlie! three horns!"

"All honorable horns! hurra! I'm the only one with horns!"

"You'll soon have companions in misfortune," said Mary, laughing.

"Good morning, genteel lady, ever genteel," said Gertrude, bowing to Alice, "I, a genteel lady, ever genteel, come from that three-horned gentleman, ever three-horned, to say that he owns a little dog with hair on its back, a red tongue in its mouth, two ears on its head, a bone between its teeth, and a tail a yard long."

"Good morning, she said! that's one horn!" cried the other children.

"Good evening, genteel gentleman, ever genteel," said Alice, reverently bowing to John Wyndham, "I, a genteel lady, ever genteel, come from that one-horned lady, ever one-horned, to say that she owns a little dog with hair on its back, a red tongue in its mouth, a bone between its teeth, a fell a yard long, and three legs and a half."

"You left out two ears on its head! a horn!"

"I'm resigned," said Alice, "gentility seems to be at a discount."

So the game went on, becoming every moment more difficult and more ludicrous—as Charlie called it, more trippy—and by the time it went round the second time, none escaped the horns. Any thing will do for the genteel lady to own, and it makes it more agreeable to vary it each time it is played: for instance, an eagle with a golden beak, silver claws, diamond eyes, ostrich feathers, bird-of-paradise tail, a crown on its head, a diamond ring on its thumb, a gold chain round its neck, a pocket-handkerchief in its hand, and any other nonsense you can string together. A lady's étagère or what-not would be a good medium for collecting together absurdities—Mont Blanc at the top, a gridiron below, a gold thimble at the side, the poets in a corner, a breakfast set on one shelf, a card-case above, a smelling-bottle at the side, a work-box, a writing-desk, a piece of coral, etc. A genteel lady's description of her mansion—certainly an extraordinary one—would be suitable; a modern-built house, with a porto-ricco in front, and a pizarro in the rear, a summer-house contagious, and turpentine walks, etc.

Being now weary of games, Amy proposed that they should vary their pleasures by a tale, which gained the general approval; and Ellen Green was commissioned to relate it. Ever ready to oblige, she told them she would, if they chose a subject. "What sort of a story will you have?"

"An Indian story!" exclaimed the younger boys.

"Do tell us about some great historical character—Washington, or King Alfred, or Napoleon Bonaparte, or some other hero!" cried John Wyndham.

"I go in for a very frightful ghost-story, that will make our hair stand on end, and make the girls afraid to go to bed!" said his brother George.

"Tell us a romantic narrative about a knight going to the Crusades, and his fair lady following him in the disguise of a page!" said Alice Bolton.

"That's exactly like you!" cried her brother Charlie; "now, I say give us some exciting adventures by sea or by land; a real fish-story, or escape from a lion or tiger, or a tale of a bear, or something of that sort."

"Poor Cousin Ellen! How can she please you all?" said Mary. "As Amy first proposed it, let us leave it to her to choose the kind of story she prefers, and so settle the difficulty."

"Agreed! agreed! choose, Amy!"

"As for me, I always like a real