A FEW WORDS ON OUR PROGRESS IN BUILDING. 



THE PvUKxiL COT OF MR. KNOTT. 



By Lowell. 



My worthy friend, A. Gordon Knott, 



From business snug withdrawn, 

 W^as much contented with a lot 

 Which would contain a Tudor cot 

 'Twixt twelve feet square of garden-plot 

 And twelve feet more of lawn. 



He had laid business on (he shelf 



To give his taste expansion, 

 And, since no man, retired with pelf, 



The building mania can shun, 

 Knott being middle-aged himself, 

 Resolved lo build, (unhappy elfl) 



A mediseval mansion. 



He called an architect in counsel ; 



" I want," said he, " a — you know what, 

 (You are a builder, I am Knott,) 

 A thuig complete from chimney-pot 



Down to the very groundsel ; 



Here's a half acre of good land ; 



Just have it nicely mapped and planned, 



And make your ^vorkmen drive on ; 

 IMeadow there is, and upland too, 

 And I sliould like a water-view, 



D' you think you could contrive one ? 



(Perhaps the pump and trough would do, 

 If painted a judicious blue ?) 

 The woodland I've attended to;" 

 (He meant three pines stuck up askew. 



Two dead ones and a live one.) 



" A pocket-full of rocks 'twould take 



To build a house of freestone. 



But then it is not hard to make 



What now-a-days is the stone ; 

 The cunning painter in a trice 

 Your house's outside petrifies. 

 And people think it very gneiss 



Without inquiring deeper ; 



My money never shall be thrown 

 Away on such a deal of stone. 



When stone of deal is cheaper." 



And so the greenest of antiques 



Was reared for Kkott to dwell in ; 



The architect worked hard for weeks 

 In venting all his private peaks 

 Upon the roof, \vhose crop of leaks 

 Had satisfied Fluellen. 



Whatever anybody had 



Out of the common, good or bad, 

 Knott had it all worked well in, 



A don-jon keep where clothes might dry, 



A porter's lodge that was a sty. 



A campanile slim and high. 



Too small to hang a bell in; 



All up and down and here and there, 



With Lord-knows-whats of round and square 



Stuck on at random everywhere ; 



It was a house to make one stare. 



All corners and all gables ; 

 Like dogs let loose upon a bear. 

 Ten emulous styles staboyed with care, 

 The whole among them seemed to bear, 

 And all the oddities to spare. 



Were set upon the stables. 



Knott was delighted with a pile 



Approved by fashion's leaders; 

 (Only he made the builder smile. 

 By asking, every little while. 

 Why that was called the Twodoor style, 



Which certainly had three doors'?) 

 Yet better fOr this luckless man 

 If he had put a downright ban 



Upon the thing in limine ; 

 For, tliough to quit affairs his plan, 

 Ere many days, poor Knott began 

 Perforce accepting draughts that ran 



All ways — except up chimney; 

 The house, though painted stone to mock. 

 With nice white lines round every block. 



Some trepidation stood in, 

 When tempests (with petrific shock, 

 So to speak) made it really rock. 



Though not a whit less wooden ; 

 And painted stone, howe'er well done, 

 Will not take hi the prodigal sun 

 Whose beams are never quite at one 



With our terrestrial lumber ; 

 So the wood shrank around the knots, 

 And gaped in disconcerting spots. 

 And there were lots of dots and rots 



And crannies without number. 

 Where through, as you may well presume, 

 The wind, like water through a flume. 



Came rushing m ecstatic, 

 Leaving in all three floors, no room 



That was not a rheumatic ; 

 And what, with points and squares and rounds. 



Grown shaky on their poises, 

 The house at night was full of pounds, 

 Thumps, bumps, creaks, scratchmgs, raps, — till ■ 



"zounds," 

 Cried Knott, " this goes beyond all bounds, 

 I do not deal in tongues and sounds. 

 Nor have I let my house and grounds. 



To a family of Noyeses!" 



