very
subject.

At the house of the Maidens Blank, when the evening was not spent in
listening to melodious voices and the harmony of stringed woods, it was
usual to take part in sit-round games of various kinds. (And while it
is on his brush this person would say with commendable pride that a
well-trained musician among us can extort more sound from a hollow
wooden pig, costing only a few cash, than the most skilful here ever
attain on their largest instrument--a highly-lacquered coffin on legs,
filled with bells and hidden springs, and frequently sold for a thousand
taels.)

Upon a certain evening, at the conclusion of one sit-round game which
involved abrupt music, a barrier of chairs, and the exhilarating
possibility of being sat upon by the young and vivacious in their zeal,
a person of the company turned suddenly to the one who is communicating
with you and said enticingly, "Why did Birdcage Walk?"

Not judging from his expression that this was other than a polite
inquiry on a matter which disturbed his repose, I was replying that the
manifestation was undoubtedly the work of a vexatious demon which had
taken up its abode in the article referred to, when another, by my side,
cried aloud, "Because it envied Queen Anne's Gate"; and without a pause
cast back the question, "Who carved The Poultry?"

In spite of the apparent simplicity of the demand it was received by
all in an attitude of complicated doubt, and this person was considering
whether he might not acquire distinction by replying that such an office
fell by custom to the lot of the more austere Maiden Blank, when the
very inadequate reply, "Mark Lane with St. Mary's Axe," was received
with applause and some observations in a half-tone regarding the
identity of the fowl.

By the laws of the sit-round games the one who had last spoken now
proclaimed himself, demanding to know, "Why did Battersea Rise?" but the
involvement was evidently superficial, for the maiden at whose memory
this one's organs still vibrate ignobly at once replied, "Because it
thought Clapham Common," in turn inquiring, "What made the Marble Arch?"

Although I would have willingly sacrificed to an indefinite extent to be
furnished with the preconcerted watchword, so that I might have enlarged
myself in the eyes of this consecrated being's unapproachable esteem,
I had already decided that the competition was too intangible for
one whose thoughts lay in well-defined parallel lines, and