"The more reason why an effort should now be made to get over it," I replied. "In short, I consider this nomination quite providential, for I could never have descended to the vulgar wire-pulling by which such distinctions are commonly gained; and I confess, it promises to be just the discipline I want. Of course I have no expectation of being chosen." "But why should you not be chosen?" urged my wife. "You are tolerably well-known in Foxden; Colonel Prowley, an influential citizen, is your warm friend; and Mr. Waspy tells you how you may get the support of the active generation." "Yes,--by playing literary Grimaldi an hour or so for their diversion! A very good recipe, were it not probable that the elder portion of the town would fail to see the humor of it." "But you may be certain that everybody likes to laugh at a lyceum-lecture." "Everybody but a clique of pseudo-wiseacres in Foxden perhaps may," I replied. "But our good friend, the Colonel, has so established his antiquarian dictatorship over his contemporaries, that I believe nothing adapted to the present century could possibly please them." "You may depend upon it," argued Kate, consolingly, "that all the lieges of Foxden will be so taken up with this Professor Owlsdarck, who is fortunately to be there at the same time, that they will give little thought to your deficiencies. At all events, there is nothing to be done but to try to please the Young Men who give you the nomination." Of course I agreed in this view of the case, and began to cast about for some grotesque subject for my lecture. But regret at disappointing the expectations of my old friend caused me to dismiss such light topics as presented themselves, and after searching for half an hour, I declared myself as much at a loss as ever. "I think I have it!" cried Kate, at length. "Both your correspondents say that a poem would be particularly acceptable,--and a poem it must be." "Modelled on William Morrill's 'New England'?" I said, dubiously. "Not at all; but a comic; poem, such as the secretary asks for. The dear Colonel will be pleased at the pretension of verse, and your humorous passages may be passed off as poetic license." "There is much in what you say," I replied; "and if I put something about New England into the title, it will go far to reconcile all difficulties." "Why not call it 'The Whims of New England'?" suggested Kate. "'The Whims of New England,'" I repeated. "Let me think how it would look in print:--'We understand that the brilliant, sparkling, and highly humorous poem, entitled "The Whims of New England," which convulsed the _élite_ of Foxden on Friday evening last,' etc., etc. Yes, it sounds well! 'The Whims of New England,' it shall be!" It was a great satisfaction to have decided upon the style and title; and I sat down at once and began to jot off lines of ten syllables. "What do you think of this for a beginning?" I presently asked:--