"Come, walk like this," the dancer said, "Stick out your toes--stick in your head, Stalk on with quick, galvanic tread-- Your fingers thus extend; The attitude's considered quaint." The weary Bishop, feeling faint, Replied, "I do not say it ain't, But Time, my Christian friend." "We now proceed to something new-- Dance as the PAYNES and LAURIS do, Like this--one, two--one, two--one, two." The Bishop, never proud, But in an overwhelming heat (His name was PETER, I repeat) Performed the PAYNE and LAURI feat, And puffed his thanks aloud. [Illustration] Another game the dancer planned-- "Just take your ankle in your hand, And try, my lord, if you can stand-- Your body stiff and stark. If, when revisiting your see, You learnt to hop on shore--like me-- The novelty would striking be, And must attract remark." "No," said the worthy Bishop, "No; That is a length to which, I trow, Colonial Bishops cannot go. You may express surprise At finding Bishops deal in pride-- But, if that trick I ever tried, I should appear undignified In Rum-ti-Foozle's eyes. "The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo Are well-conducted persons, who Approve a joke as much as you, And laugh at it as such; But if they saw their Bishop land, His leg supported in his hand, The joke they wouldn't understand-- 'Twould pain them very much!" [Illustration] [Illustration] BRAID THE RAVEN HAIR Braid the raven hair, Weave the supple tress, Deck the maiden fair In her loveliness; Paint the pretty face, Dye the coral lip, Emphasise the grace Of her ladyship! Art and nature, thus allied, Go to make a pretty bride! Sit with downcast eye, Let it brim with dew; Try if you can cry, We will do so, too. When you're summoned, start Like a frightened roe; Flutter, little heart, Colour, come and go! Modesty at marriage tide Well becomes a pretty bride! [Illustration] THE PRECOCIOUS BABY A VERY TRUE TALE (_To be sung to the Air of the "Whistling Oyster."_) An elderly person--a prophet by trade-- With his quips and tips On withered old lips, He married a young and a beautiful maid; The cunning old blade, Though rather decayed, He married a beautiful, beautiful maid. She was only eighteen, and as fair as could be. With her tempting smiles And maidenly wiles, And he was a trifle of seventy-three: Now what she could see Is a puzzle to me, In a prophet of seventy--seventy-three!