Part 85 (1/2)

Man's an Anthropoid--he cannot help that, you know-- First evoluted from Pongos of old; He's but a branch of the _catarrhine_ cat, you know-- Monkey I mean--that's an ape with a cold.

Fast dying out are man's later Appearances, Cataclysmitic Geologies gone; Now of Creation completed the clearance is, Darwin alone you must anchor upon.

Primitive Life--Organisms were chemical, Busting spontaneous under the sea; Purely subaqueous, panaquademical, Was the original Crystal of Me.

I'm the Apostle of mighty Darwinity, Stands for Divinity--sounds much the same-- Apo-theistico-Pan-Asininity Only can doubt whence the lot of us came.

Down on your knees, Superst.i.tion and Flunkeydom!

Won't you accept such plain doctrines instead?

What is so simple as primitive Monkeydom Born in the sea with a cold in its head?

_Herman C. Merivale._

SELECT Pa.s.sAGES FROM A COMING PORT

DISENCHANTMENT

My Love has sicklied unto Loath, And foul seems all that fair I fancied-- The lily's sheen's a leprous growth, The very b.u.t.tercups are rancid.

ABAs.e.m.e.nT

With matted head a-dabble in the dust, And eyes tear-sealed in a saline crust I lie all loathly in my rags and rust-- Yet learn that strange delight may lurk in self-disgust.

STANZA WRITTEN IN DEPRESSION NEAR DULWICH

The lark soars up in the air; The toad sits tight in his hole; And I would I were certain which of the pair Were the truer type of my soul!

TO MY LADY

Twine, lanken fingers, lily-lithe, Gleam, slanted eyes, all beryl-green, Pout, blood-red lips that burst a-writhe, Then--kiss me, Lady Grisoline!

THE MONSTER

Uprears the monster now his s...o...b..rous head, Its filamentous chaps her ankles brus.h.i.+ng; Her twice-five roseal toes are cramped in dread, Each maidly instep mauven-pink is flus.h.i.+ng.

A TRUMPET BLAST

Pale Patricians, sunk in self-indulgence, Blink your bleared eyes. Behold the Sun-- Burst proclaim in purpurate effulgence, Demos dawning, and the Darkness done!

_F. Anstey._

THE ROMAUNT OF HUMPTY DUMPTY

'Tis midnight, and the moonbeam sleeps Upon the garden sward; My lady in yon turret keeps Her tearful watch and ward.

”Beshrew me!” mutters, turning pale, The stalwart seneschal; ”What's he, that sitteth, clad in mail Upon our castle wall?”