efore him. He was born for a
philosopher,--so I read his horoscope,--but he has a great liking for
poetry and can write well in verse. We have had a number of poems
offered for our entertainment, which I have commonly been requested to
read. There has been some little mystery about their authorship, but it
is evident that they are not all from the same hand. Poetry is as
contagious as measles, and if a single case of it break out in any social
circle, or in a school, there are certain to be a number of similar
cases, some slight, some serious, and now and then one so malignant that
the subject of it should be put on a spare diet of stationery, say from
two to three penfuls of ink and a half sheet of notepaper per diem. If
any of our poetical contributions are presentable, the reader shall have
a chance to see them.

It must be understood that our company is not invariably made up of the
same persons. The Mistress, as we call her, is expected to be always in
her place. I make it a rule to be present. The Professor is almost as
sure to be at the table as I am. We should hardly know what to do
without Number Five. It takes a good deal of tact to handle such a
little assembly as ours, which is a republic on a small scale, for all
that they give me the title of Dictator, and Number Five is a great help
in every social emergency. She sees when a discussion tends to become
personal, and heads off the threatening antagonists. She knows when a
subject has been knocking about long enough and dexterously shifts the
talk to another track. It is true that I am the one most frequently
appealed to as the highest tribunal in doubtful cases, but I often care
more for Number Five's opinion than I do for my own. Who is this Number
Five, so fascinating, so wise, so full of knowledge, and so ready to
learn? She is suspected of being the anonymous author of a book which
produced a sensation when published, not very long ago, and which those
who read are very apt to read a second time, and to leave on their tables
for frequent reference. But we have never asked her. I do not think she
wants to be famous. How she comes to be unmarried is a mystery to me; it
must be that she has found nobody worth caring enough for. I wish she
would furnish us with the romance which, as I said, our tea-table needs
to make it interesting. Perhaps the new-comer will make love to her,--I
should think it possible she might fancy him.

And who is the new-comer? He