In their gardens, fruit before blossom came, And the trees diminished as they grew; And you never went out to walk a mile, It was the mile that walked to you.

The people there are not tall or short, Heavy or light, or stout or thin, And their lives begin where they should leave off, Or leave off where they should begin.

There childhood, with naught of childish glee, Looks on the world with thoughtful brow; 'Tis only the aged who laugh and crow, And cry "We have done with it now!";

A singular race! what lives they spent!

Got up before they went to bed!

And never a man said what he meant, Or a woman meant what she said.

They blended colours that will not blend, All hideous contrasts voted sweet; In yellow and red their Quakers dress'd, And considered it rather neat.

They didn't believe in the wise and good, Said the best were worst, the wisest fools; And 'twas only to have their teachers taught That they founded national schools.

They read in "books that are no books,"

Their cla.s.sics--chess-boards neatly bound; Those their greatest authors who never wrote, And their deepest the least profound.

Now, such were the folks of that wonder-land, A curious people, as you will own; But are there none of the race abroad, Are no specimens elsewhere known?

Well, I think that he whose views of life Are crooked, wrong, perverse, and odd, Who looks upon all with jaundiced eyes-- Sees himself and believes it G.o.d,

Who sneers at the good, and makes the ill, Curses a world he cannot mend; Who measures life by the rule of wrong And abuses its aim and end,

The man who stays when he ought to move, And only goes when he ought to stop-- Is strangely like the folk in my dream, And would flourish in Turvey Top.

_William Sawyer._

A BALLAD OF BEDLAM

O lady wake!--the azure moon Is rippling in the verdant skies, The owl is warbling his soft tune, Awaiting but thy snowy eyes.

The joys of future years are past, To-morrow's hopes have fled away; Still let us love, and e'en at last, We shall be happy yesterday.

The early beam of rosy night Drives off the ebon morn afar, While through the murmur of the light The huntsman winds his mad guitar.

Then, lady, wake! my brigantine Pants, neighs, and prances to be free; Till the creation I am thine.

To some rich desert fly with me.

_Unknown._

XIV

NATURAL HISTORY

THE FASTIDIOUS SERPENT

There was a snake that dwelt in Skye, Over the misty sea, oh; He lived upon nothing but gooseberry pie For breakfast, dinner and tea, oh.

Now gooseberry pie--as is very well known,-- Over the misty sea, oh, Is not to be found under every stone, Nor yet upon every tree, oh.

And being so ill to please with his meat, Over the misty sea, oh; The snake had sometimes nothing to eat, And an angry snake was he, oh.

Then he'd flick his tongue and his head he'd shake, Over the misty sea, oh, Crying, "Gooseberry pie! For goodness' sake, Some gooseberry pie for me, oh."

And if gooseberry pie was not to be had, Over the misty sea, oh, He'd twine and twist like an eel gone mad, Or a worm just stung by a bee, oh.

But though he might shout and wriggle about, Over the misty sea, oh, The snake had often to go without His breakfast, dinner and tea, oh.

_Henry Johnstone._

THE LEGEND OF THE FIRST CAM-U-EL

AN ARABIAN APOLOGUE

Across the sands of Syria, Or, possibly, Algeria, Or some benighted neighbourhood of barrenness and drouth, There came the Prophet Sam-u-el Upon the Only Cam-u-el-- A b.u.mpy, grumpy Quadruped of discontented mouth.

The atmosphere was glutinous; The Cam-u-el was mutinous; He dumped the pack from off his back; with horrid grunts and squeals He made the desert hideous; With strategy perfidious He tied his neck in curlicues, he kicked his paddy heels.

Then quoth the gentle Sam-u-el, "You rogue, I ought to lam you well!

Though zealously I've shielded you from every grief and woe, It seems, to voice a plat.i.tude, You haven't any grat.i.tude.

I'd like to hear what cause you have for doing thus and so!"

To him replied the Cam-u-el, "I beg your pardon, Sam-u-el.

I know that I'm a Reprobate, I know that I'm a Freak; But, oh! this utter loneliness!

My too-distinguished Onliness!

Were there but other Cam-u-els I wouldn't be Unique."

The Prophet beamed beguilingly.

"Aha," he answered, smilingly, "You feel the need of company? I clearly understand.

We'll speedily create for you The corresponding mate for you-- Ho! presto, change-o, dinglebat!"--he waved a potent hand,

And, lo! from out Vacuity A second Incongruity, To wit, a Lady Cam-u-el was born through magic art.

Her structure anatomical, Her form and face were comical; She was, in short, a Cam-u-el, the other's counterpart.