THE PRIMEVAL Man's PASTORAL. 349 



In connection with the subject of the old lakes and 

 their fertile shores, where human beings, it might 

 reasonably be expected, once lived so comfortably, 

 the editor of this volume begs to lay before the 

 reader (in a sort of parenthesis, for which Professor 

 Cope is in no way responsible) an eifort of Sachem's. 

 He dedicated it to Darwin, and was pleased to call 

 it, notwithstanding it smells more of the fossil-bono 

 caves than the fields, 



THE PEIMEVAL MAN's PASTORAL. 



My grandfather Jock was an ape, 



His grandfather Twist was a worm ; 

 Each age has developed in shape, 



And ours has got rid of the squirm ; 

 If the law of selection will work in our case, 



We '11 develop, in time, to a wonderful race. 



My sweetheart has claws, and her face 



Is covered with bristles and hair; 

 She 's feline in nature and grace, 



She 's apt to get out on a tear, 

 She 's cursed with a passion to sing after night ; 



But these she '11 evolve, and develop all right. 



One race has evolved in the sea, 



And partly got rid of their scales ; 

 Though cousin by faces to me, 



They 're cousin to fishes by tails ; 

 But they '11 ever remain simply raer-mcn and women. 



For selection won't work, in the world that they swim in. 



