CHAPTER III.
THE RHYMING GAME.—ORIKAMA, OR THE WHITE WATER LILY, AN INDIAN TALE.
Great was the chagrin of our young party on the following morning, to find that a storm had set in, giving no prospect of amusements out of doors for the day: the rain came down in a determined manner, as if it had no intention of clearing up for a week, and the winds whistled and scolded in every variety of note; even the boys, who prided themselves upon a manly contempt for wind and weather, agreed that the chimney corner was the best place under the circumstances, and that they must try to make themselves as agreeable as possible at home. Cornelia quoted, for the benefit of the rest, a receipt she had somewhere met with for the "manufacture of sunshine," which she thought would be especially valuable on such a darksome day: "Take a good handful of industry, mix it thoroughly with family love, and season well with good-nature and mutual forbearance. Gradually stir in smiles, and jokes, and laughter, to make it light, but take care these ingredients do not run over, or it will make a cloud instead of what you wish. Follow this receipt carefully, and you have an excellent supply of sunshine, warranted to keep in all weathers."
Accordingly, it was resolved to make sunshine, and Aunt Lucy offered to provide the industry, if they would furnish the other materials. Soon were heaps of flannel and other stout fabrics produced from her "Dorcas closet," as she called it, in which her provisions for the poor were laid up, in nice order; for even in our happy land does it hold true that "the poor ye have always with you, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good," and kind Aunt Lucy was not one to neglect this duty. On the day preceding Christmas, according to her principle of making as many happy as possible, she had ordered a barrel of flour to be baked into cakes and pies, and had distributed them, along with a turkey and a bushel of potatoes to each, among all the poor families of the neighborhood; and this was only one specimen of the numerous kindly acts by which she drew together the hearts of all around her, and made them realize the Christian brotherhood of man. Where there were children, she made them happy by the present of a few penny toys; a very cheap investment, yielding a large return of rapture! She could never deny herself the pleasure of giving these little offerings of love with her own hands, and wishing her poor neighbors a "Happy Christmas;" and on this occasion she had learnt the destitution of a poor widow, who struggled hard to support her young family and to maintain a decent appearance, but who was now laid up with sickness, and unable to provide clothing and fuel for herself and her little ones. Mr. Wyndham had immediately sent her a load of wood, and his wife was now anxious to furnish the necessary garments. The young girls were rejoiced to aid in the good work, and soon all fingers were busy, and needles were in swift operation; while the boys took turns in the entertainment of the sewers, by alternately reading aloud from a pleasant book. Tom Green was an excellent reader; his agreeable tones of voice made it a pleasure to listen to him, and his clear articulation and varied expression added greatly to the interest of the narrative. Why is it that this desirable accomplishment, which promotes so much the happiness of the home circle, is not more cultivated?
After dinner, Charlie Bolton proposed some games, as he said that quite enough of industry and gravity had been put into the preparation, and he feared the sunshine would not be properly made without the smiles, jokes, and laughter spoken of in the receipt. "How do those lines of Milton run, Ellen, in L'Allegro? my favorite piece—before the old fellow got to be so very sublime, as he is in the Paradise Lost."
"You irreverent jackanapes! to speak so of the immortal bard! I suppose you mean,
'But come, thou goddess fair and free,
In Heaven yclept Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing mirth;
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee