"I intend to disprove the assertion of Alice, that there is only one Sir Philip Sydney. Who was that other equally valiant knight, and much sweeter poet, who used to sing his own verses, accompanying himself upon the harp; and could thereby soothe the most troubled spirit? On one occasion, this brilliant genius, whose romantic adventures might fill a volume, and who subsequently became a king, was in exile, and was hidden, with some devoted followers, in a large cave. The enemies of his country were encamped around, and lay, in strong force, between his hiding-place and the small town where he had spent his childish years, which they also garrisoned. While in this situation, cut off from all intercourse with his home and friends, his heart turned to them with an intense longing; and in a moment of thoughtlessness, he said before three of his captains, 'Oh, what would I not give, could I once more drink water from the well, outside the gate of my native town!' At the peril of their lives, the gallant men fought their way through the hosts of the enemy, and returned with the water. But the poet-warrior would not drink: he poured it out as a libation to God, saying, 'Can I indeed drink the blood of these noble friends, who have risked their lives to gratify my idle whim? I cannot do it.' Now, who can be this poet, warrior, and king?" "Did he live about a thousand years before the Christian era?" said Amy. "He did." "It was the sweet Psalmist of Israel, David, son of Jesse, the Bethlehemite. Now, who is the man that long ago published a book of jests, said to be greatly studied now-a-days by diners-out and professed wits, and endlessly copied into other works of a similar character. His reputation is so high, that many anecdotes are called by his name. Who can he be?" "Is it Punch?" said Lewis. "How silly!" cried Harry, with the knowing look of a boy two years older: "Punch is a newspaper. Was it Hood?" "No: do you all give it up?" "Yes: we can't imagine who he can be." "Joe Miller, of jesting memory." "Now let us try another game," said Gertrude. "Of course, Cousin Mary has an endless store at her disposal." "Let us try 'Elements,'" Mary answered. "I will throw my handkerchief at some one, calling out water, air, or earth; and the person who catches it must immediately name an animal living in or upon the element. But if I say _fire_, you must be silent. The answer should be given before I count ten; and then the one in possession of the handkerchief must throw it to another, carrying on the game. Any one who repeats an animal that has been already mentioned, pays a forfeit--except that I think forfeits are stupid things." "Instead of that," said Charlie, "let the unlucky wight who makes the greatest number of blunders, have the privilege of proposing the first game to-morrow." "Very well," said Mary, throwing her handkerchief at Tom. "Water." "Codfish," answered he, tossing it to Cornelia. "Earth."