Of course the reading of the poem at the end of the last paper has left a
deep impression. I strongly suspect that something very much like
love-making is going on at our table. A peep under the lid of the
sugar-bowl has shown me that there is another poem ready for the company.
That receptacle is looked upon with an almost tremulous excitement by
more than one of The Teacups. The two Annexes turn towards the mystic
urn as if the lots which were to determine their destiny were shut up in
it. Number Five, quieter, and not betraying more curiosity than belongs
to the sex at all ages, glances at the sugarbowl now and then; looking so
like a clairvoyant, that sometimes I cannot help thinking she must be
one. There is a sly look about that young Doctor's eyes, which might
imply that he knows something about what the silver vessel holds, or is
going to hold. The Tutor naturally falls under suspicion, as he is known
to have written and published poems. I suppose the Professor and myself
have hardly been suspected of writing love-poems; but there is no
telling,--there is no telling. Why may not some one of the lady Teacups
have played the part of a masculine lover? George Sand, George Eliot,
Charles Egbert Craddock, made pretty good men in print. The authoress of
"Jane Eyre" was taken for a man by many persons. Can Number Five be
masquerading in verse? Or is one of the two Annexes the make believe
lover? Or did these girls lay their heads together, and send the poem we
had at our last sitting to puzzle the company? It is certain that the
Mistress did not write the poem. It is evident that Number Seven, who is
so severe in his talk about rhymesters, would not, if he could, make such
a fool of himself as to set up for a "poet." Why should not the
Counsellor fall in love and write verses? A good many lawyers have been
"poets."

Perhaps the next poem, which may be looked for in its proper place, may
help us to form a judgment. We may have several verse-writers among us,