"Tell us of thy food,--those half-marine refections, Crinoids on the shell and Brachipods au naturel,-- Cuttlefish to which the pieuvre of Victor Hugo Seems a periwinkle. "Speak, thou awful vestige of the earth's creation, Solitary fragment of remains organic! Tell the wondrous secret of thy past existence,-- Speak! thou oldest primate!" Even as I gazed, a thrill of the maxilla, And a lateral movement of the condyloid process, With post-pliocene sounds of healthy mastication, Ground the teeth together. And from that imperfect dental exhibition, Stained with express juices of the weed nicotian, Came these hollow accents, blent with softer murmurs Of expectoration: "Which my name is Bowers, and my crust was busted Falling down a shaft in Calaveras County; But I'd take it kindly if you'd send the pieces Home to old Missouri!" * See notes at end. THE BALLAD OF MR. COOKE (LEGEND OF THE CLIFF HOUSE, SAN FRANCISCO) Where the sturdy ocean breeze Drives the spray of roaring seas, That the Cliff House balconies Overlook: There, in spite of rain that balked, With his sandals duly chalked, Once upon a tight-rope walked Mr. Cooke. But the jester's lightsome mien, And his spangles and his sheen, All had vanished when the scene He forsook. Yet in some delusive hope, In some vague desire to cope, ONE still came to view the rope Walked by Cooke. Amid Beauty's bright array, On that strange eventful day, Partly hidden from the spray, In a nook, Stood Florinda Vere de Vere; Who, with wind-disheveled hair, And a rapt, distracted air, Gazed on Cooke. Then she turned, and quickly cried To her lover at her side, While her form with love and pride Wildly shook: "Clifford Snook! oh, hear me now! Here I break each plighted vow; There's but one to whom I bow, And that's Cooke!" Haughtily that young man spoke: "I descend from noble folk; 'Seven Oaks,' and then 'Se'nnoak,' Lastly 'Snook,' Is the way my name I trace. Shall a youth of noble race In affairs of love give place To a Cooke?" "Clifford Snook, I know thy claim To that lineage and name, And I think I've read the same In Horne Tooke; But I swear, by all divine, Never, never, to be thine, Till thou canst upon yon line Walk like Cooke." Though to that gymnastic feat He no closer might compete Than to strike a BALANCE-sheet In a book; Yet thenceforward from that day He his figure would display In some wild athletic way, After Cooke.