On the porch to be entertained by the learned converse of the
professors, until an approaching storm drives us in-doors. Within the
"shooting box", as the young man who has traveled christens the house, -
thinking that an appropriate title for a domicile where so many members
of the Hunt family are collected, - there is a motley assembly, as they
gather around the sitting room table. There are Portuguese,
Michiganders, Pennites, Illinoisyones, Bangorillas, and other specimens
of natural history such as would have puzzled Agassiz himself; and the
question arises, "What shall we do to amuse ourselves this rainy
evening?" But "Pat", the engineer, oiler of the domestic machinery of
the establishment, and keeper of this menagerie, seems overcome with
fatigue; the Astronomer is eclipsed in a corner; the professors are
absorbed in sines and co-sines; the Fisherman nods over his paper;
Grandma knits her brows and the stocking; Elsie is deep in a book; and
no one displays any special interest in the matter until pencils and
paper are distributed for the game of Crambo. The modus operandi of
that most wise and learned game is as follows: Four slips of paper are
given each person, on one of which he is requested to write a question,
and on each of the other scraps a word. These are then shuffled, and all
in turn draw. And now there is great commotion, for each participant is
expected to answer his question in rhyme, and to bring the three words
which he has drawn, into his answer, also. Such a chorus of "Oh dears",
and such dismayed faces! The student proposes to procure the coffee mill
to assist him in grinding out his "pome"; the tennis player wishes she
had a hatchet to chop up a long word which has fallen to her lot, so
that she can put it in proper metre; but Mr. Short (6 ft. 2 in.), with
watch in hand, calls "Time", and then "Silence", as pencils race over
papers as if on a wager. Ten minutes is the brief space allotted for the
production of the wondrous effusions; and when Mr. S. announces, "Time's
up", the hat is again full; and one says, with a sigh of relief, "There,
I never made two lines rhyme in my life before;" another modestly
remarks, "You needn't think we are verdant because we are in Green - "
but the warning finger of the Philosopher is raised, and Pat, the
reader, begins, emphasizing the words drawn as he reads: -
"Why so much quarrelling about Religion!
It's as plain as string beans
That from this very means
The world is not right,
If I had but clear sight
I might hope ere this night
Is beginning to wane
The thing to explain.
But, lacking the wit,
I must e'en submit
This doggerel rhyme
And hope 't is in time."
"Oh! oh!" exclaimed the "small specimen" (aged ten), "that's Grandma's;
I heard her say she 'knows beans', 'cause she is a Yankee;" but the S.
S. subsides on hearing the next paper read, and shows so plainly that
she "wishes herself further" that it is not difficult to guess the
author: -
"What's quicker than lightning?
A Turkey or a squirrel
Can 'cut' like a knife
But I never saw a creature rash
Like a deer in all my life."
"Good for Ten-year-old!" exclaim the chorus; and the S. S., brightening
up, concludes she'll try it again sometime. Next comes the question: -
"Where do cabbages come from?
My will is good, and I propose
To tell you all I can
In this dry time a garden hose
Must come into the plan
First plant the seed, and in due course
Will little shoots appear,
When each from other has divorce
They'll flourish, it is clear.
If this rhyme is worth preserving,
With mucilage it may be fixed
On any wall deserving
Such wit and wisdom mixed."
As it is well known that the natives of the Emerald Isle have a
predilection for cabbages, it is unanimously decided that none but Pat
could have perpetrated this; so Pat grins, suggests that a bill poster
be secured at once, and proceeds: -
"How would you like to be a cat?
In Timbuctoo each stern ascetic,
Though blind to folly as a bat,
Revels in love peripatetic
Which makes him nimble as a cat
But though I'm fond of such agility,
I better like the busy bees,
For they display so much ability
They 'mind one of the Portuguese."
At this implied compliment to his people, the black eyes of the foreign
student flash approval; and the Mathematician speaks up, saying, "That
is the Philosopher, sure, and proves the truth of the saying, 'A little
nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.'" The Philosopher
smiles benignantly, but does not deny the charge; and the reader
continues: -
"What do you think of the Ormthorhynchus?
My brain's in a 'muss'
From thinking of this 'cuss'
(Excuse me for using such a word).
If it lived at Nahant
With this heat it would pant,
For surely't is a curious bird.
You may think me a 'muff',
And declare I talk stuff,
But I hope you'll not doubt my word.
For though out in all weathers
Its coat's not of feathers
But of fur, - at least so I've heard.
But 'by this illumination'
(Kant's ratiocination?)
'I don't see it,' though it may seem quite absurd."
The company, strange to say, hit upon Elsie for this, and are evidently
surprised that one so given up to pomps and vanities should display such
knowledge of natural history; but they evidently suspect her of shining
by reflected light, as she sits next to the Philosopher; and I heard
her ask him a question about this animal with the jaw-breaking name.
