t the other
side of the picture, though sympathetically drawn, is a perfect parody
of what it is meant to convey. For the speaker's ideal "city" might be a
big village, with its primitive customs, and its life all concentrated
in the market-place or square; and it is precisely in the square that he
is ambitious to live. There the church-bells sound, and the diligence
rattles in, and the travelling doctor draws teeth or gives pills; there
the punch-show or the church procession displays itself, and the last
proclamation of duke or archbishop is posted up. It is never too hot,
because of the fountain always plashing in the centre; and the bright
white houses, and green blinds, and painted shop-signs are a perpetual
diversion to the eye.... But alas! the price of food is prohibitive; and
a man must live where he can.

"ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE" is the complement to "One Way of Love," and
displays the opposite mood. The one lover patiently gathers June roses
in case they may catch his lady's eye. The other grows tired of such
patience even when devoted to himself; he tires of June roses, which are
always red and sweet. His lady-love is bantering him on this frame of
mind. It is true, she says, that such monotony is trying to a man's
temper: there is no comfort in anything that can't be quarrelled with;
and the person she addresses is free to "go." She reminds him, however,
that June may repair her bower which his hand has rifled, and the next
time "consider" which of two courses she prefers: to bestow her flowers
on one who will accept their sweetness, or use her lightnings to kill
the spider who is weaving his films about them.

"SIBRANDUS SCHAFNABURGENSIS" is apparently the name of an old pedant
who has written a tiresome book; and the adventures of this book form
the subject of the poem. Some wag relates how he read it a month ago,
having come into the garden for that purpose; and then revenged himself
by dropping it through a crevice in a tree, and enjoying a picnic lunch
and a chapter of "Rabelais" on the grass close by. To-day, in a fit of
compunction, he has raked the "treatise" out; but meanwhile it has
blistered in the sun, and run all colours in the rain. Toadstools have
grown in it; and all the creatures that creep have towzed it and browsed
on it, and devoted bits of it to their different domestic use. It is
altogether a melancholy sight. So the wag thinks his victim has
sufficiently suffered, and carries it bac