'Born on a Monday,' that is what they said.
Remember the next few days? I guess you don't;
That was before your time. Well, Tuesday night
He said he'd go to church; and just before the prayer
He blurts right out, 'I've come here to get christened.
If I am going to have a brand new life

I'll have a new name, too.' Well, sure enough
They christened him, though I've forgotten what;
And Etta Stark, (you know, the pastor's girl)
Her head upset by what she called romance,
She went and married him on Wednesday noon.
Thursday the sun or something in the air
Got in his blood and right off he took sick.
Friday the thing got worse, and so did he;
And Saturday at four o'clock he died.
Buried on Sunday with the town decked out
As if it was a circus-day. And not a soul

Knew why they went or what he meant to them
Or what he died of. What would be your guess?"
"Well," I replied, "it seems to me that he,

Just coming from a sedentary life,

Felt a great wave of energy released,

And tried to crowd too much in one short week.
The laws of physics teach-

"No, not at all.

He never knew 'em. He was just tired," he said.

SINGULAR STUPIDITY OF J. SPRATT, ESQ.," IN THE MANNER OF
GUY WETMORE CARRYL.

Or all the mismated pairs ever created

The worst of the lot were the Spratts.

Their life was a series of quibbles and queries
And quarrels and squabbles and spats.

They argued at breakfast, they argued at tea,

And they argued from midnight to quarter past three.

Owen Seaman

The family Spratt-head was rather a fat-head,

And a bellicose body to boot.

481

He was selfish and priggish and worse, he was piggishA regular beast of a brute.

At table his acts were incredibly mean;

He gave his wife fat-and he gobbled the lean!

What's more, she was censured whenever she ventured
To dare to object to her fare;

He said "It ain't tasteful, but we can't be wasteful;
And someone must eat what is there!"

But his coarseness exceeded all bounds of control
When he laughed at her Art and the State of her Soul.

So what with his jeering and fleering and sneering,
He plagued her from dawn until dark.

He bellowed" I'll teach ye to read Shaw and Nietzsche ".
And he was as bad as his bark.

"The place for a woman— -"he'd start, very glib.

And so on, for two or three hours ad lib.

So very malignant became his indignant
Remarks about "Culture" and Cranks,"
That at last she revolted. She up and she bolted
And entered the militant ranks. .

When she died, after breaking nine-tenths of the laws, She left all her money and jewels to the Cause!

And THE MORAL is this (though a bit abstruse): What's sauce for a more or less proper goose,

When it rouses the violent, feminine dander,

Is apt to be sauce for the propaganda.

Louis Untermeyer.

THE MODERN HIAWATHA

He killed the noble Mudjokivis.
Of the skin he made him mittens,
Made them with the fur side inside
Made them with the skin side outside.
He, to get the warm side inside,
Put the inside skin side outside;

He, to get the cold side outside,
Put the warm side fur side inside.
That's why he put the fur side inside,
Why he put the skin side outside,
Why he turned them inside outside.

SOMEWHERE-IN-EUROPE-WOCKY

'Twas brussels, and the loos liège
Did meuse and arras in latour;
All vimy were the metz maubege,
And the tsing-tau namur.

Unknown.

"Beware the petrograd, my son

The jaws that bite, the claws that plough! Beware the posen, and verdun

The soldan mons glogau!"

He took his dixmude sword in hand;
Long time his altkirch foe he sought;
Then rested he 'neath the warsaw tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in danzig thought he stood
The petrograd, with eyes of flame,
Came ypring through the cracow wood,
And longwied as it came.

Rigid Body Sings

One two! One two! and through and through

The dixmude blade went snicker-snack; He left it dead, and with its head

He gallipolied back.

"And hast thou slain the petrograd?
Come to my arms, my krithnia boy!
O chanak day! Artois! Grenay!"
He woevred in his joy.

'Twas brussels, and the loos liège
Did meuse and arras in latour;
All vimy were the metz maubege,
And the tsing-tau namur.

483

F. G. Hartswick.

RIGID BODY SINGS

GIN a body meet a body
Flyin' through the air,
Gin a body hit a body,

Will it fly? and where?
Ilka impact has its measure,

Ne'er a' ane hae I,

Yet a' the lads they measure me,

Or, at least, they try.

Gin a body meet a body

Altogether free,

How they travel afterwards

We do not always see.

Ilka problem has its method
By analytics high;

For me, I ken na ane o' them,
But what the waur am I?

J. C. Maxwell.

A BALLAD OF HIGH ENDEAVOR

АH Night! blind germ of days to be,
Ah, me! ah me!

(Sweet Venus, mother!)

What wail of smitten strings hear we? (Ah me! ah me!

Hey diddle dee!)

Ravished by clouds our Lady Moon,

Ah me! ah me!

(Sweet Venus, mother!)

Sinks swooning in a lady-swoon

(Ah me! ah me!

Dum diddle dee!)

What profits it to rise i' the dark?

Ah me! ah me!

(Sweet Venus, mother!)

If love but over-soar its mark

(Ah me! ah me!

Hey diddle dee!)

What boots to fall again forlorn?

Ah me! ah me!

(Sweet Venus, mother!)

Scorned by the grinning hound of scorn,

(Ah me! ah me!

Dum diddle dee!)

Art thou not greater who art less?

Ah me! ah me!

(Sweet Venus, mother!)

Low love fulfilled of low success?

(Ah me! ah me!

Hey diddle dee!)

Unknown.