Yes, history here doth repeat itself verily! Fancy fair France, in Republican rig, "Soothing the Bear" again; footing it merrily In--well now, what _is_ the name of this jig? _Cancan_, or _Carmagnole_? Blend of the two? Anyhow, 'tis a most strange "_Pas de Deux_"! Policy makes pride and principles plastic, And 'tis most true that extremes often meet; Yet as a sample of joint "Light Fantastic" _This_ dual dance must be baddish to beat. Beauty and Beast _vis-à-vis_ in the dance, Were scarce funnier partners than Russia and France. Autocrat Bruin, can he really relish The larkish high-kick, the tempestuous twirl, That risky Republican dances embellish? And she--a political "Wallflower," poor girl!-- Can she truly like the strange partner that fate Apportions her, lumpish, unlovely, and late? Like 'Arry and 'Arriet out for a frolic, They've interchanged head-gear, by curious hap! Of what is this strange substitution symbolic? The Autocrat crown and the Phrygian cap They've "swopped," but they both most uneasily sit, And each for the other appears a poor fit. That Liberty cap upon Bruin's brown noddle! That crown--much awry--on the Beauty's fair head! Absurd! And the Bear's heavy lumbering waddle Sorts oddly enough with the lady's light tread. He won't get _her_ step! Will she try to catch _his_? As soon shall small beer take the sparkle of fizz. Is she "soothing the Bear"--with a show of lip-honey? Is he flattering the Bee--with an eye on the hive? Sting hidden, claws sheathed--for how long? Well, 'tis funny, This queer little game, whilst they keep it alive! Dance-partnership is not "for better for worse," And "union of hearts" sometimes smacks of--the purse. "Twos and Threes" is a game to the playground familiar! "Two's Company!" Yes, so, in this case, are Three! Alliances frequently made willy-nilly are Dual _or_ Triple. The Eagles we see Foregather; so may they not meet--in the dance-- The Big Northern Beast and the Beauty of France? * * * * * ANGELS. I wonder if you give your mind At all to angels. "Which?" you say? Why, angels of the hymn-book kind, Not imitation ones in clay. I often do. They fascinate My fancy to a strange degree; And meditating much of late There came two serious points to me. You notice in the Holy Writ Angels are never feminine; But, wheresoever they may flit, _He_ came, _he_ spake, _he_ gave the sign. The men who wrote of them were sage, And knew their subject out and out; But _we_ live in a wicked age, That twists the angels' sex about. And painters paint them girls. And then The question sets one's brains afire-- Why choristers on earth are men, If women form the heavenly choir?