‘Capital, Helen!’ said Elizabeth.

‘How very pretty!’ said Lucy.

‘And very well described,’ said Anne; ’you have brought in those ungainly words most satisfactorily.’

‘Now, Helen, here is Anne’s,’ said Elizabeth; ’it is a choice one, and I have kept it for the last.’

‘Let me read Anne’s,’ said Rupert; ’no one can decypher her writing as well as I can.’

’As was proved by the thorough acquaintance you shewed with the contents of her last letter,’ said Elizabeth.

Rupert began as follows: 

    Now must I write in numbers flowing
    Extemporaneously a poem?

‘Why, Rupert,’ cried Anne, ’you must be reading Kate’s.  Mine began with—­’

‘I declare that I have yours in my hand, Anne,’ said Rupert.

‘And I did not write one,’ said Katherine.

    Now must I write in numbers flowing
    Extemporaneously a poem? 
    One that will fill your eyes with tears,
    While I relate how our worst fears
    Were realized in yonder ditch. 
    Conveyed there by some water-witch,
    We found, sad sight for longing eyes! 
    Fido, much loved, though small in size. 
    Hard fate, but while our tears bemoan it,
    Let us take up the corpse and bone it,
    Then place the mummy in a Jar,
    Keep it from sausage-makers far,
    Extract his heart to send to Francis;
    This gift from her, his soul entrances,
    Within his scarlet gold-laced Jacket
    His heart makes a tremendous racket;
    Visions of bliss arise, a surrogate,
    Ay, and a wedding tour to Harrogate.

When Rupert came to Fido, Anne uttered one indignant ‘Rupert!’ but as he proceeded, she was too much confounded to make the slightest demonstration, and yet she was nearly suffocated with laughter in the midst of her vexation, when she thought of the ball at Hull, and ‘Frank Hollis.’  Elizabeth and Katherine too were excessively diverted, though the former repented of having ever proposed such a game for so incongruous a party.  There was a little self-reproach mingled even with Anne’s merriment, for she felt that if she had more carefully abstained from criticising the Hazlebys, or from looking amused by what was said of them, Rupert would hardly have attempted this piece of impertinence.  Helen, who considered it as a most improper proceeding, sat perfectly still and silent, with a countenance full of demure gravity, which made Elizabeth and Anne fall into fresh convulsions as they looked at her; Lucy only blushed; and as for Harriet, the last two lines could scarcely be heard, for her exclamations of, ’O Mr. Merton, that is too bad!  O Mr. Merton, how could you think of such a thing?  O Mr. Merton, I can never forgive you!  Oh dear!  Oh dear!  I shall never stop laughing.  Oh dear!  Mr. Merton, what would Frank Hollis say to you? how ridiculous!’