d with their
father, Sir John Leslie, they acted little mock Shakespearean dramas in
their ordinary clothes, and without any scenery or accessories. Every
word was impromptu, and yet the even flow of blank verse never ceased.
I always thought it a singularly clever performance, for Mrs. Crawshay
can only have been nineteen then, and her sister eighteen. Mrs.
Crawshay invariably played the heroine, Lady Hope the confidante, and
Sir John Leslie any male part requisite. No matter what the subject
given them might be, they would start in blank verse at once. Let us
suppose so unpromising a subject as the collection of railway tickets
outside a London terminus had been selected. Lady Hope, with pleading
eyes, and all the conventional gestures of sympathy of a stage
confidante, would at once start apostrophising her sister in some such
fashion as this:--

"Fair Semolina, dry those radiant orbs; Thy swain doth beg thee but a
token small Of that great love which thou dost bear to him. Prithee,
sweet mistress, take now heart of grace, At times we all credentials
have to show, Eftsoons at Willesden halts the panting train, Each
traveller knows inexorable fate Hath trapped him in her toils; loud
rings the tread Of brass-bound despot as he wends his way From door to
door, claiming with gesture rude His pound of flesh, or eke the
pasteboard slip, Punched with much care, all travel-worn and stained,
For which perchance ten ducats have been paid, Granting full access
from some distant spot. Then trembles he, who reckless loves to sip The
joys of travel free of all expense; Knowing the fate that will pursue
him, when To stern collector he hath naught to show."

To which her sister, Mrs. Crawshay, would reply, without one instant's
hesitation, somewhat after this style:--

"Sweet Tapioca, firm and faithful friend,
Thy words have kindled in my guilty breast
Pangs of remorse; to thee I will confess.
Craving a journey to the salt sea waves
Before this moon had waxed her full, I stood
Crouching, and feigning infant's stature small
Before the wicket, whence the precious slips
Are issued, and declared my years but ten.
Thus did I falsely pretext tender age,
And claimed but half the wonted price, and now
Bitter remorse my stricken conscience sears,
And hot tears flow at my duplicity."

The lines would probably have been more neatly worded than this, but
the flow of improvised blank verse