_Charles Kingsley._

DOUBLE BALLADE OF PRIMITIVE MAN

He lived in a cave by the seas, He lived upon oysters and foes, But his list of forbidden degrees An extensive morality shows; Geological evidence goes To prove he had never a pan, But he shaved with a sh.e.l.l when he chose,-- 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.

He worshipp'd the rain and the breeze, He worshipp'd the river that flows, And the Dawn, and the Moon, and the trees And bogies, and serpents, and crows; He buried his dead with their toes Tucked-up, an original plan, Till their knees came right under their nose,-- 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.

His communal wives, at his ease, He would curb with occasional blows Or his State had a queen, like the bees (As another philosopher trows): When he spoke, it was never in prose, But he sang in a strain that would scan, For (to doubt it, perchance, were morose) 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!

On the coasts that incessantly freeze, With his stones, and his bones, and his bows, On luxuriant tropical leas, Where the summer eternally glows, He is found, and his habits disclose (Let theology say what she can) That he lived in the long, long agos, Twas the manner of Primitive Man!

From a status like that of the Crees Our society's fabric arose,-- Develop'd, evolved, if you please, But deluded chronologists chose, In a fancied accordance with Mos es, 4000 |B.C.| for the span When he rushed on the world and its woes,-- 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.

But the mild anthropologist--_he's_ Not _recent_ inclined to suppose Flints Palaeolithic like these, Quaternary bones such as those!

In Rhinoceros, Mammoth and Co.'s First epoch the Human began Theologians all to expose,-- 'Tis the _mission_ of Primitive Man.

ENVOY

Max, proudly your Aryans pose, But their rigs they undoubtedly ran, For, as every Darwinian knows, 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!

_Andrew Lang._

PHILLIS'S AGE

How old may Phillis be, you ask, Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?

To answer is no easy task: For she has really two ages.

Stiff in brocade, and pinch'd in stays, Her patches, paint, and jewels on; All day let envy view her face, And Phillis is but twenty-one.

Paint, patches, jewels laid aside, At night astronomers agree, The evening has the day belied; And Phillis is some forty-three.

_Matthew Prior._

V

CYNICISM

GOOD AND BAD LUCK

Good Luck is the gayest of all gay girls; Long in one place she will not stay: Back from your brow she strokes the curls, Kisses you quick and flies away.

But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes And stays--no fancy has she for flitting; s.n.a.t.c.hes of true-love songs she hums, And sits by your bed, and brings her knitting.

_John Hay._

BANGKOLIDYE

"Gimme my scarlet tie,"

Says I.

"Gimme my brownest boots and hat, Gimme a vest with a pattern fancy, Gimme a gel with some style, like Nancy, And then--well, it's gimes as I'll be at, Seein' as its bangkolidye,"

Says I.

"May miss it, but we'll try,"

Says I.

Nancy ran like a frightened 'en Hup the steps of the bloomin' styeshun.

Bookin'-orfus at last! Salvyeshun!

An' the two returns was five-and-ten.

"An' travellin' mikes your money fly,"

Says I.

"This atmosphere is 'igh,"

Says I.

Twelve in a carriage is pretty thick, When 'ite of the twelve is a sittin', smokin'; Nancy started 'er lawkin, and jokin', Syin' she 'oped as we shouldn't be sick; "Don't go on, or you'll mike me die!"

Says I.

"Three styeshuns we've porst by,"

Says I.

"So hout we get at the next, my gel."

When we got hout, she wer pale and saint-like, White in the gills, and sorter faint-like, An' said my cigaw 'ad a powerful smell, "Well, it's the sime as I always buy,"

Says I.

"'Ites them clouds in the sky,"

Says I.

"Don't like 'em at all," I says, "that's flat-- Black as your boots and sorter thick'nin'."

"If it's wet," says she, "it _will_ be sick'nin'.

I wish as I'd brought my other 'at."

"You thinks too much of your finery,"

Says I.