le.

We already know that this was the great day when Pennewip was to
criticise the poetical effusions of his young geniuses. There he sat,
his restless wig sharing all the poetical feelings and emotions--and
motions--of its owner. We will just look over his shoulder and read
with him those inestimable treasures of poetic art; and perhaps we
too shall be moved to emotion.

Wig: In the middle, resting quietly.

Lucas de Bryer: "Our Native Land."

Cake and wine and native land,
Out in the moonlight I take my stand;
Our native land and cake and wine,
And I hope the moon will shine;
Five fingers have I on my hand,
All to honor our native land.

"Melodious," said the teacher, "very melodious; and very profound. Cake
and wine, with our native land as a climax."

Wig: On the right side.

Lizzie Webbelar: "My Father's Vocation."

The cat is sly, I know;
My father is a dealer in Po-
Tatoes and onions.

"Original, immediate! But I don't like the way she cuts her potatoes
in twain."

Wig: On the left side.

Jeanette Rust: "The Weather-cock."

He stands on the chimney since long ago,
And shows the wind which way to blow.

"Smooth, but not quite correct, if examined closely--but I'll let it
pass as poetic license."

Wig: Down in front.

Leendert Snelleman: "Lent."

In Lent it is always nice,
My brother's birth-day is in May,
He says his feet need warming,
So that Lent we must be praising,
And then we're going to celebrate,
Easter brings eggs and a holiday.

"It's too bad that he's so careless with his rhymes. His imagination
is extraordinary. Very original."

Wig: Down on his neck.

Keesje, the Butcher's Boy: "In Praise of the Teacher."

My father has slaughtered many a steer,
But Master Pennewip is still living, I hear;
Some are lean, and some are well-fed,
He has slipped his wig to the side of his head.

The wig actually went to the side of his head.

"Well, this is curious. I hardly know what to say about it."

The wig slipped to the other side.

"What's the connection between me and steers?"

The wig protested vigorously against any implication of relationship
with steers.

"H--mm! Can it be that this is what our new-fangled writers call
humour?"

The wig sank down to his eyebrows, which signified doubt.

"I will call up the boy and----"

The wig passed again