Abbeychurch; Or, Self-Control and Self-ConceitYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
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Abbeychurch; Or, Self-Control and Self-Conceit
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
English fiction -- 19th century; Religious fiction
Consent was given, and while the candles were being brought, and
Elizabeth was looking out some paper, Anne whispered to her brother,
'Rupert, pray say nothing about Fido, or the Mechanics' Institute, or
something unpleasant will surely come of it.'
'Oh! Anne,' was the answer, 'you have robbed me of my best couplet--
Weeping like forsaken Dido,
When she found the slaughtered Fido.
Where is the use of playing if there is to be no fun?'
''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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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