The male population is divided into Lovers, Poets, and Lunatics. There are various types of Lovers—those that sigh like a furnace, those that are pale and wan, and Swains. Swains are usually Rustic or Lovelorn. Feminine Arcadians are called Queens, Goddesses, Angels, and other titles of incredible foolishness. In physical appearance dwellers in Arcady are beautiful beyond all words. The women have eyes as stars of twilight fair, faces with gardens in, lily hands, amber-dropping hair, and feet like little mice. The men are handsome as Apollos; of heroic size and Chesterfieldian manners. The above-mentioned qualities, though not always apparent to the disinterested observer, are realized and insisted upon by the Lovers themselves. Oftenest the Citizens of Arcady are transients and come and go as circumstances decree, but in some rare instances a happy pair spend their whole life in Arcady, or wander through the Happy Valley and make their home in the Land of Heart’s Desire. AN ARCADY GIRL His gold beams a-spinning, I asked of the sun If he ever had any to spare; “Only once,” he replied, “too many I spun, And I gave them to Peggy for hair.” I asked of the sky if his stars were all right, Or if he had over-supplies; He said, “I had two which were rather too bright, So I gave them to Peggy for eyes.” I asked of some fays who were cutting out flowers If they had any remnants or snips; They said: “We had scraps of these poppies of ours, But we gave them to Peggy for lips.” I said to the rain, “What becomes of the drops That you may not have used when it clears?” He said, “If there are any left when it stops, I’ll give them to Peggy for tears.” I artfully coaxed him to spill them all out, And scatter them over the miles, And that is the reason, I haven’t a doubt, That Peg’s always dimpling with smiles. UNDER A NEW CHARTER Hello! Come in! I called you, Cupid, To take this box. Handle with care! Look out! don’t be so careless, Stupid; I’d have you know my heart’s in there. Take it at once, boy, to Miss Kitty, And say it is a valentine. How happy she’ll look, and how pretty, When she discovers it is mine! Tell her for her my heart is yearning, And then, unless my judgment errs, By the same messenger returning I rather think she’ll send me hers. What, Cupid, are you back already? And bringing me Miss Kitty’s heart? Open it quickly! Stay, be steady! What’s this? A neatly printed chart! “No spaces left at my disposal— Possibly some vacated soon; But I have filed your kind proposal. Come up and call some afternoon.” And here her heart is designated— What seas of dreams! what flowery isles! The boundaries all distinctly stated, And measured by a scale of smiles.