A FEW WORDS ON OUR PROGRESS IN BUILDING. 223 



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 in 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 though, as you may well presume, 

 The wind, like water through a flume, 



Came rushing in 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, scratchings, 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." 



