Chapter II: Comedy

~Chappie's Lament.~

I walked one day with Phyllith Ovah in Bothton town, I in me long Pwinth Albert, She in a new Worth gown,

I talked that day with Phyllith, Ovah in Bothton town, Of things intenth and thoulful, Begged her me love to cwown.

I pawted that day fwom Phyllith Ovah in Bothton town; She'd be a bwothah to me, she said, But wouldn't be Mitheth Bwown.

FERRIS GREENSLET. _Wesleyan Literary Monthly_.

~Marigold.~

I love confinement in thy bonds,
I love thy little stock to hold,
Thy very scent,
Aye, marigold!

I'll love confinement of thy bonds,
I'll love thy little stocks to hold,
Thy every cent,
_I_ marry gold!

HENRY SAFFORD CANDEE. _Trinity Tablet_.

~An Idyl of the Strap.~

She spoke to me, her voice was low And sweet, With hidden thought I could not know Replete. She cast on me a lingering look That all my inmost being shook, And, as our glances mixed, she took My seat.

_Red and Blue._

~The Jim-Jam King of the Jou-Jous.~

AN ARABIAN LEGEND.

_Translated from the Arabic._

Far off in the waste of desert sand, The Jim-jam rules in the Jou-jou land: He sits on a throne of red-hot rocks, And moccasin snakes are his curling locks; And the Jou-jous have the conniption fits In the far-off land where the Jim-jam sits-- If things are nowadays as things were then. Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!

The country's so dry in Jou-jou land You could wet it down with Sahara sand, And over its boundaries the air Is hotter than 'tis--no matter where: A camel drops down completely tanned When he crosses the line into Jou-jou land-- If things are nowadays as things were then. Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!

A traveller once got stuck in the sand On the fiery edge of Jou-jou land; The Jou-jous they confiscated him, And the Jim-jam tore him limb from limb; But, dying, he said: "If eaten I am, I'll disagree with this Dam-jim-jam! He'll think his stomach's a Hoodoo's den!" Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!

Then the Jim-jam felt so bad inside, It just about humbled his royal pride. He decided to physic himself with sand, And throw up his job in the Jou-jou land. He descended his throne of red-hot rocks, And hired a barber to cut his locks: The barber died of the got-'em-again, Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!

And now let every good Mussulman Get all the good from this tale he can. If you wander off on a Jamboree, Across the stretch of the desert sea, Look out that right at the height of your booze You don't get caught by the Jou-jou-jous! You may, for the Jim-jam's at it again. Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!

ALARIC BERTRAND START. _Tuftonian_.

~Love up to Date.~

I know she loves me, though with scorn
She treats my adoration;
I know she loves me, though my suit
She checks with strong negation.

And this I know, with proof as sure
As though her lips had said it:
Her heart I have before my eyes,
And there I've plainly read it.

For cathode rays have stolen through
This maiden so deceiving;
And thus her heart I've photographed,
And seeing is believing.

S. L. HOWARD. _The Tech._

~Miss Milly O'Naire.~

She is not young and fair, Nor has she golden hair, Nor a dimple in each cheek, If that is what you seek; Hers is a gift more rare, Miss Milly O'Naire.

She has not laughing eyes, Blue as the summer skies, Nor lips of cherry red, On kisses to be fed; No, it's not for these I care, Miss Milly O'Naire.

She is not wondrous wise, Seeks not for learning's prize. 'Tis true she knows no Greek, And her English grammar's weak, But why should I despair, Miss Milly O'Naire.

So woo and win her I will,
For there's my tailor's bill,
And creditors by the score;
But they'll trouble me no more,
For she has a million to spare,
Miss Millionaire.

WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER. _The Badger._

~A Shy Little Maid.~

A love-lorn lad wooed a coy maid once, All of a summer's day he plead; Oft he spoke of the bonds of love--the dunce! And she shyly shook her head.

When from his heart hope had almost fled, He spoke of bonds he had in town. Still the shy little maiden shook her head-- But she shook it _up and down_.

_Trinity Tablet_.

~My Mistake.~

I met her on a Pullman car,
In section number nine;
Each eye shone like a morning star,
With radiance divine.
So when I placed my bags and traps
In section number ten,
She looked so tempting 'mid her wraps
I sought her face again.

She glanced at me with roguish pose,
Yet innocent of guile,
Then colored like a blushing rose,
And tried to hide a smile;
The sweet confusion but enhanced
Her dainty tint of pink,
And quite by accident she chanced
The nearest eye to wink.

When she refused my proffered card
With scorn and proud disdain,
I tried my best, and pleaded hard
My error to explain.
She listened to my mumblings crude,
Then tossed her nose on high;
"I think," she said, "you'd wink, if you'd
A cinder in your eye."

E. P. G. _The Tech._

~Sic Semper.~

I sent her a spoon, She is married to-day; The wedding's at noon. I sent her a spoon-- And she loved me in June! But that's always their way. I sent her a spoon, She is married to-day.

WILL L. GRAVES. _Makio_.

~A Modern Instance.~

Her little hand in his he took, All hot and quivering it was; And noted how her eyes did look Bright as a lucent sapphire does.

Within her dainty little wrist Her pulse throbbed quick, as if her heart Beat love's glad summons to be kissed, Heart's first reveille since life's start,

Her oval cheeks were flushed with rose; Her red lips parted for such breath As hot from tropic spice lands blows; Enough 'twas to have warmed old Death!

He gazed at her; he spoke--and she Stuck out at him a small tongue's tip: The family doctor old was he, And she--he said she had _la grippe_.

_Red and Blue_.

~The Echo from the 17th.~

Who builds de railroads and canals,
But furriners?
Who helps across de street de gals,
But furriners?

Who in de caucus has der say, Who does de votin' 'lection day, And who discovered U.S.A., But furriners?

FRANK TOURTELLOT EASTON. _Brunonian_.

~Ballade of Laura's Fan.~

It was never imported from France
With a dainty Parisian frou-frou,
Nor upon it do bull-fighters prance,
As only the Spaniards can do.
It was stencilled by no one knows who,
Yet _I'd_ give all my coupons and rents
For that one precious keepsake from you--
The fan that cost $0.63.

On the staircase we sat out a dance,
Or twenty, for all that I knew;
At times on the bliss of my trance
The breath of the roses stole through.
But redder than rose-petals grew
Your cheeks, at my swift compliments;
So the softest of breezes it blew--
The fan that cost $0.63.

It all seemed like a fairy romance,
Below us the laughter and mu-
Sic, while now and again, such a glance
As is given on earth but to few
From the depths of your eyes, fond and true,
Set me dreaming of all their contents,
Till I woke,--something hid them, from view,--
The fan that cost $0.63!

ENVOY.

My queen, for your favor I sue;
If your heart through my pleading relents,
To your feelings pray send me one clue--
The fan that cost $0.63.

_Harvard Lampoon_.

~Apparent.~

When I questioned young Smithson, a short time ago,
Why no longer he courted Miss B.,
He looked at me strangely, and smiled just a bit--
"The reason's a parent!" cried he.

ALBERT ELLSWORTH THOMAS. _Brunonian_.

~The Call of Duty.~

At early morn, a valiant knight, On prancing charger, richly dight, With helm and lance and armor bright, Rose from his lordly halls: "Now, in this region, round about, There dwell three outlaws, strong and stout: If luck be mine, I'll find them out! For duty calls."

Friday, at three, another knight (Knowing that ladies all delight In music), shod with patents bright, Steers clear of Music Halls: "In Boston's Back Bay, round about, There dwell three matrons, plain and stout: If luck be mine, I'll find them out-- For 'duty calls.'"

R. C. ROBBINS. _Harvard Lampoon._

~A Paradox.~

'Tis a curious fact, but a fact very old; You can keep a fire hot by keeping it coaled.

HERBERT ERNEST DAY. _Brunonian_.

~St. Valentine's Eve.~

HE.

"I will write little Ethel some verses,
The love that I bear her to tell;
I've no money for tokens more costly,
I'm sure these will do quite as well.

"How pleased she will be when she gets them!
What a sweet little note I'll receive
In acknowledgment of the verses
I sent her St. Valentine's eve."

SHE.

"What a miserable jumble of phrases!
What chaotic verse do I see!
I wonder what could have possessed him
To send these effusions to me!

"Never mind, though, I'm sure they'll be useful,
And I think I know just about where."
So she took them, and twisted, and placed them
In the newly made curls of her hair.

E.W. BURLINGAME. _Yale Record_.

~Evidence.~

Of all the lines that volumes fill,
Since Aesop first his fables told,
The wisest is the proverb old,
That every Jack must have his Jill.

But when the crowd that nightly fills
The down-town places, hillward goes,
To hear them sing, one would suppose
That every Jack had several gills.

B.O.H. _Cornell Magazine_.

~The Widow's Mite.~

She was a widow stern and spry,
And brimming with lots of fight;
She married a little man five feet high,
And he died from the widow's might.

_Columbia Spectator_.

~Lines to Her.~

There are other fellows nearer,--
And some of them are dearer,--
Of those sad thoughts my heart has
not
a
doubt.

But I want to get in line
With my little Valentine,
So's not to let those fellows
cut
me
out.

CHARLES FLOYD McCLURE. _Wisconsin Aegis_.

~A Sensible Serenade.~

I sing beneath your lattice, love,
A serenade in praise of you;
The moon is getting rather high,
My voice is, too, my voice is, too.

The lakelet in deep shadow lies,
Where frogs make much hullabaloo,
I think they sing a trifle hoarse,
And I do, too, and I do, too.

The blossoms on the pumpkin vine
Are weeping diamond tears of dew;
'Tis warm, the flowers are wilting fast,
My linen, too, my linen, too.

All motionless the cedars stand,
With silent moonbeams glancing through,
The very air is drowsy, love,
And I am, too, and I am, too.

Oh, could I soar on loving wings,
And at your window gently woo!
But then your lattice you would bolt,
So I'll bolt, too, so I'll bolt, too.

L.M.L. _Columbia Spectator_.

~Love's Secret.~

Well I know she is not handsome,
She can neither sing nor dance,
But I strangely am attracted
By each careless nod and glance
Of my Madeline.

Quite a philanthropic feeling
Is my love, so true and rare,
For she's burdened with great riches;
In which burden I would share
With my Madeline.

From such heavy care to shield her,
Each and every purpose tends.
I will help to clip the coupons,
And I'll draw the dividends
Of my Madeline.

ROBERT PECK BATES. _Trinity Tablet_.

~Pity 'tis, 'tis True.~

I sat me down at leisure; The ready waiter flew, My order took suavely, And shouted, "_Oyster stew_!"

The steaming dish was waiting, The ready waiter flew, Then, rose I up in anger, And left,--'twas "oysters two!"

HERBERT WELCH. _Wesleyan Argus._

~Broken Chains.~

He was tired of being shackled;
She was faithless, that was plain;
So his lawyer filed the papers,
And the papers filed his chain.

EUGENE A. COX. _Vanderbilt Observer._

~Gory Gambols.~

I love my adversary's leg to kick,
To frisk upon his features with my feet,
Or bunt him in the stomach till he's sick--
All this is sweet.

I smile to hear his collar bone collapse,
Accompanied by his expiring screech;
To crack his ribs is happiness, perhaps,
Beyond all reach.

I laugh aloud when, in the scrimmage wild,
I smash the thigh bone of some lusty boy,
And see him borne off, helpless as a child--
That, that is joy.

My sturdy heel into his spine I jam,
To beat his mouth until he pouts at fate,
To punch him sternly in the diaphragm
Is rapture great.

Than to perceive his manly blood run red
No greater joy can unto me be given;
But at one kick to kick him down stone-dead--
That, that is heaven,

_Lehigh Burr_.

~The Man without a Country.~

The "man without a country" was in such a sorry plight, There wasn't any place on land where he might pass the night, But if you'd like to see a man as badly off as he, Who hasn't any place at all to stay on land or sea, Who has no spot he may enjoy to any great extent, Just wait until you see some time the man without a cent.

H.F.H. _Amherst Literary Monthly_.

~She Shook Her Head.~

"May I kiss you, dear," a youth once cried,
Although scarce hoping what he said;
But the maiden turned away her eyes
And slowly, sadly, shook her head.

"But would you mind," he still went on,
"Now would you really care," he said,
"If I should kiss you?" and again
She turned aside--and shook her head.

J.P. SAWYER. _Yale Record._

~Priscilla.~

Priscilla in the garret loft

Of rare old silks and velvets soft A heap espying,-- Forgotten hues of a by-gone day!-- The little maid in deft array Carefully folds and lays away With envious sighing.

Did they some rustic beauty grace, A comely form and winsome face. With footsteps flying? Or does she sigh because a bride They once adorned; now cast aside, Left in the garret there to hide, The dust defying?

Perchance her great-grandmother wore Them hundred years ago and more-- Priscilla's crying! "Come little maid, why this despair? What makes those big tears standing there?" "Ah, sir! because they will not bear Another dyeing."

_Yale Record_.

~Hard to Beat.~

Last night I held a little hand
So dainty and so neat,
Methought my heart would burst with joy,
So wildly did it beat.
No other hand into my soul
Could greater solace bring,
Than that I held last night, which was
Four aces and a king.

WILLIAM A. THOMPSON. _Wesleyan Literary Monthly_.

~That Sweet Girl Graduate.~

So stately and so dignified
She looks in cap and gown,
I hardly dare to speak to her,
This grad. of great renown.

I scarcely can believe my eyes!
It surely can't be she
Who always seemed so very shy,
So very coy to me!

But suddenly the spell departs,
And I give thanks to Fate;
For anxiously she asks me if
Her mortar-board's on straight.

_Harvard Lampoon._

~Faint Heart.~

My lady fair Her golden hair Lets fall a-down her shoulder. I'd steal a tress,-- She's no redress,-- Were I a little bolder.

From her sweet lip A bee might sip, Sweeter than rose-leaf's savor. A kiss I'd take,-- No cry she'd make,-- Were I a little braver.

Her neat, trim waist Just suits my taste; Close in my arms I'd fold her, And clasp her tight,-- She'd feel no fright,-- Were I a little bolder.

She's waiting now 'Till I find how To ask of her a favor. She'll be my wife,-- I'd stake my life,-- When I'm a little braver.

HARLAN COLBY PEARSON. _Dartmouth Literary Monthly_.

~A Spring Lament.~

The spring is come; warm breezes blow; It doesn't make me happy, tho';-- For seasons' changes only bring To me the pain of ordering Another suit. Style changes so!

This hat I'll hardly dare to show Near "Easter bonnets;" it's too low; I fear I must be purchasing; The spring is come.

I'm glad to have the winter go; I don't like ice, I don't like snow. Green fields, bright flowers, and birds to sing, Of course I like that sort of thing; But still--it makes me blue to know The spring is come.

LOUIS JONES MAGEE. _Wesleyan Argus_.

~A Street-Car Romance.~

I write to offer you my heart, O maiden, whom I do not know. Pray do not think me premature In making known my feelings so, For I have loved you steadfastly, O damsel of the unknown name, And all last night and half to-day My passion has been in a flame.

'Twas not your face, though that is fair, Nor yet your voice bewitched me so: (I heard you ask the motor-man How long before the car would go.) I saw you on the car that went From Harvard Square on Tuesday noon; I don't believe that you saw me, For you were reading the _Lampoon_.

And this is why I write to you: To say that I am wholly thine, I love you, for that first-page joke,-- The one you laughed at,--_that was mine._

W. AMES. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~Applied Mathematics.~

"My daughter," and his voice was stern,
"You must set this matter right;
What time did the Sophomore leave,
Who sent in his card last night?"

"His work was pressing, father dear,
And his love for it was great;
He took his leave and went away
Before a quarter of eight."

Then a twinkle came to her bright blue eye,
And her dimple deeper grew.
"'Tis surely no sin to tell him that,
For a quarter of eight is two."

_Lehigh Burr_.

~The District Telegraph Boy.~

Hear the clatter of those feet; See him coming up the street On the trot! He is going to the Greens; No, he's going to the Dean's, Is he not?

See the uniform of blue, And the shiny letters, too, On his cap. I imagine he is quite An intelligent and bright Little chap.

What a careless tune he hums, And how innocently comes Hurrying. Ah, how little does he know Of the happiness or woe He can bring!

Now he brings a hopeless sigh. Now a sparkle to the eye, Now a tear. More of griefs, I think, than joys-- Why! the fateful little boy's Coming here!

Goodness, how he pulls the bell! He has some bad news to tell, I'm afraid. Oh, I hope it's not for me! Alice, sign for it, and see If it's paid.

It is surely not from Will, For his morning smoke is still In the air. Has poor uncle breathed his last? Has his weary spirit passed From all care?

Then poor auntie is bereft, And that sunny home is left Fatherless. Or old cousin Ed and May 'Ve gone and had another ba- By, I guess.

What if John has lost, poor man, Little Clementine or Nan, Or his wife! Oh, the hopefulness, the fears! Oh, the rapture! Oh, the tears! Of this life!

I don't like the thing a bit; I don't dare to open it; How I shake! Why, It's from that man of mine: "_Will bring partner home to dine; Get a steak."_

LOUIS JONES MAGEE. _Wesleyan Argus_.

~Relapse.~

I study Evolution, And hear the teacher tell How we have all developed From an isolated cell; And in the examination Some fellows make it plain Their principles will bring them To the starting-point again.

CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. _Sequoia_.

~Yale, A.D. 2000.~

Far from the ball-room's crowded throng These two had strolled apart, While he with fervor whispered of Her image in his heart.

And that he might detain it there Forever from that day, Our Co-ed shyly gave to him A Yale lock long and gray.

_Yale Record_.

~In Maiden Meditation.~

"Were I a man," quoth Mistress Jane, "Ah, would I were!--I'd drink champagne And smoke--be dashing in my dress-- And let my roving eyes express A love I never entertain.

"With rose lips near, I'd not refrain
From kissing. I would e'er maintain
That woman's 'No' is often 'Yes,'
Were I a man.

"Yet while I muse, it seems quite plain
That as I am I can't complain,
For Tom and Jack--they both confess--
Adore me. So I rather guess
I'd wish I were a girl again,
Were I a man!"

W.C. NICHOLS. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~"Three's a Crowd."~

Crisp and hard lay the snow beneath, The frosty air made young blood tingle. As we glided over the polished road To the sleigh-bells' merriest jingle.

We were warmly wrapped to our chins in rugs, Fur-proof against winter's biting weather, There was room in the sleigh for only two, But--three of us sleighed together.

The moon from the clear, cold sky above Flooded the snow with a golden glory, And I whispered--for how could I refrain?-- The old, old, world-famous story.

Must have seemed quite a crowd, you say, With three in the sleigh? Well you _are_ stupid! Three's a pleastanter company far, than two, When the person who crowds you is Cupid!

_Vassar Miscellany._

~On Bills.~

At the first of the month I grow morbid and sad; As I gaze on that pile I believe In the saying that never was potent before-- "'Tis more blessed to give than receive."

_Lehigh Burr_.

~A Senior's Plea.~

"Dear Father: Once you said, 'My son, To manhood you have grown; Make others trust you, trust yourself, And learn to stand alone!'

"Now, father, soon I graduate, And those who long have shown How well they trust me, want their pay, And I can stand a loan."

JOHN CURTIS UNDERWOOD. _Trinity Tablet_.

~After the Game.~

They played at cards on the yellow sand.
When the fields and the trees were green,
She thought that the trump was in her hand,
He thought that he held the queen.
But winter has come, and they both have strayed
Away from the throbbing wave--
He finds 'twas only the deuce she played,
She finds that he played the knave.

_Columbia Spectator_.

~Old Days.~

Sing a song of old days, Old days and true, True days and bold days, Deeds to dare and do.

Quarter-staff and buckles Trip, turn and tread-- Tapped upon the knuckles, Rapped upon the head.

Pouch and pocket-fillings, Knavery and worse-- Oh, the crowns and shillings In the miser's purse!

Tumbled into limbo, Picking thro' the locks, Fast with arms akimbo, Stewing in the stocks.

Pretty maids a-laughing-- Here's to rosy lips, Port and sherry quaffing While the pottle drips.

Quaffing port and sherry,
Jolly roaring blades,
Making gay and merry
With the giddy maids.

Red blood and revel,
Murder, love, and fraud,--
Dancing to the devil,
Laughing to the Lord.

Bright gold and yellow,
Meek maids and bold,
Old wine and mellow--
Wine and maids and gold.

Light life and long life,
Brisk life and brave;
Strong life and wrong life,
Great to the grave.

Sing a song of old days,
Sing them back again;
Kill the canny, cold days,
Let us live like men.

_Harvard Advocate_.

~A Reward of Merit.~

The father asked: "How have you done In mastering ancient lore?" "I did so well," replied the son, "They gave me an encore; The Faculty like me and hold me so dear, They make me repeat my Freshman year."

_Trinity Tablet_.

~A Fin de Siecle Girl.~

She studies Henrik Ibsen "to cultivate her mind," And reads Shakespeare and Browning through and through; Meanwhile she knits her brows--it is the only kind Of fancy work this modern maid can do.

_Concordiensis_.

~Her Reason.~

Once a learned Boston maiden
Was besought for one sweet kiss;
"Only one," he softly pleaded,
But the maid's reply was this:

"I am quite surprised you ask it,
When you know physicians say
That for spreading dire contagion
Kissing is the surest way.

"Though I own that what you ask me
Would be pure, unbounded bliss,
Yet, from hygienic reasons,
I cannot allow a kiss."

JAMES P. SAWYER. _Yale Record_.

~The Cruel Maid.~

One summer night, in twilight dim, A fellow wooed a maiden prim. Around her waist, with, some alarm, The naughty man had put his arm.

Her dimpled hand he stroked awhile, Then murmured low, with loving smile, "Could e'er so soft a thing be found, If all the world were searched around?"

With laughing eyes and flaming cheeks, The maid replied, "'Tis just two weeks Since I found out that you, my pet, Have something that is softer yet!"

"That I? I have? Oh, can it be? You darling, now I _do_ love thee!" Oh, Vanitas! No sooner said, She put her hand upon his head.

A. BRADLEY. _Columbia Spectator_.

~A Football Tragedy.~

She clung to him, the game was o'er.
Content was in her soul;
"Dear heart, I'm very happy now
That you have come back whole."

With gentle hand he smoothed her curls,
And tried to keep a laugh back;
"My dear, your joy is premature,
For I am only _half-back_."

_University of Chicago Weekly_.

~It Was.~

He seized her in the dark and kissed her, And for a moment bliss was his; "Oh, my! I thought it was my sister!" He cried. She laughed and said, "It is."

_Yale Record_.

~A Summer Campaign.~

I've travelled from the coast of Maine To Jersey's balmy shore. Nor have my efforts been in vain, For maids I've won galore.

In mountain climbs I spent my breath, On lakes and rivers, too; I flirted here with coy Beth, And there with lovely Sue.

No tournament, no sail, nor hop, Without me was complete; Nor from love-making did I stop, Till all were at my feet.

The summer's gone upon the run, Maids utter sighs in billows; I've broken sixteen hearts and won Just sixteen sofa pillows.

J. H. SCRANTON. _Yale Record_.

~From June to June.~

Two lovers 'mong the weedy brake
Were rowing--happy pair!
They drifted far upon the lake
To get the sun and air.

A year has fled. Again they float;
But one is now the pair,
And three are riding in the boat--
They bring their _son_ and _heir_.

NORMAN STAUNTON DIKE. _Brunonian_.

~At the North Avenue Fire.~

The boy stood in the burning block, Whence all but him had fled; He smashed the china on a rock, But saved the feather bed.

A.M. WHITE, JR. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~I Love my Love.~

Every one thinks some face fairer
Than all others in the land,
Thinks this one alone is perfect,
Vows to her his heart and hand.

Then he sings in loudest praises
Of her wealth of golden hair,
Of her lips like ripest cherries,
She alone divinely fair.

But there's one that's quite forgotten,
One whose charms they fail to see;
Yet in my abject devotion
Fairest of the fair is she.

There's not one half so entrancing
Or so makes my poor heart thrill--
It is Martha Washington's picture
On a bright one dollar bill.

J. P. SAWYER. _Yale Record_.

~The Diva.~

Gone are her bird-notes, thin she sings, and flat, Enough to craze Concone or Scarlatti. Where once she made our hearts go pit-a-pat, To-day, alas, they only pity Patti.

S.F. BATCHELDER. _Harvard Lampoon_.

Mathematical.

In Vassar's halls a tutor young, 'Tis said, once met his fate; He taught her in the Calculus To differentiate.

They're married now--at meal-times oft Discord invades their state; For he has found that she with him Would differ when she ate.

_Lehigh Burr_.

~She Still Wins.~

He had worn a colored blazer on the Nile; He had sported spats in Persia just for style; With a necktie quite too utter, In the streets of old Calcutta, He had stirred up quite a flutter for a while.

The maids of Java flocked before his door, Attracted by the trousers that he wore; While his vest, a bosom-venter, Shook Formosa to the centre, And they hailed him as a mentor by the score.

On his own ground as a masher, on the street He outdid a Turkish Pasha, who stood treat; He gave Shanghai girls the jumps, And their cheeks stuck out like mumps At the patent-leather pumps upon his feet.

But he called upon a Boston girl one night, With a necktie ready-made, which wasn't right; And she looked at him, this maid did, And he faded, and he faded, And he faded, and he faded out of sight.

_The Tech_.

~Her Present.~

He had hinted at diamonds, a fan by Watteau, A fine water spaniel,--so great was his zeal,-- A chatelaine watch, or a full set of Poe, And then at the end sent a padded _Lucile_.

F. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~On the Weather.~

The sultry stillness of a summer's day Oppresses every sense. The droning bees Alone the silence break, and restless play The shadows of the gently swaying trees.

The very ripples in the stream are still, Save now and then a low and gentle swash, All which doth try me sore against my will-- So hot! And all my ducks are in the wash.

FERRIS GREENSLET. _Wesleyan Literary Monthly_.

~Tom's Philosophy.~

The bridges mingle with the river, And the river with the ocean; The lights of Boston mix forever With a jagged motion; Not a lamp-post near looks single; All things, when in town I dine, With weird, uncanny phantoms mingle, Why not I with wine?

See the house-tops fall from heaven! And that chimney hit the other-- A college man would be forgiven If home he'd help a brother. Is it the sun that shines on earth, Or moonbeams that I see? What are all my struggles worth, Since I've lost my key?

_Harvard Lampoon_.

~Fashion's Folly.~

I knew a maiden fair and sweet,
Whom I had loved for years.
At last one day I told her this,
Although with many fears.

At first she did not say a word,
Then in a pleasant way
She looked out to the west, and said:
"It _is_ a pleasant day."

She had not heard a single word,
She's told me since with tears;
She wore her hair, as some girls will,
Down over both her ears.

S.W. CHAMBERLAIN. _Vassar Miscellany_.

~Christmas in Chicago.~

The girl from Chicago arose sharp at eight, As her maid on the door was knocking; She found a piano, a desk, and a slate Concealed in the toe of her stocking.

A. M. WHITE, JR. _Harvard Advocate_.

~A Discovery in Biology.~

I think I know what Cupid is:
_Bacteria Amoris;_
And when he's fairly at his work,
He causes _dolor cordis_.
So, if you'd like, for this disease,
A remedy specific,
Prepare an antitoxine, please,
By methods scientific.
Inoculate another heart
With germs of this affection,
Apply this culture to your own,
'Twill heal you to perfection.

MARY E. LEVERETT. _Vassar Miscellany_.

~Logic.~

Say, does Fact or Reason err, And, if they both err, which the more? The man of smallest calibre Is sure to be the greatest bore.

_Harvard Lampoon_.

~A Flirtation on the Cars.~

I did not even know her name, Nor where she lived, nor whence she came-- 'Twas sad, and yet Was I so very much to blame, That all my heart should start to flame, And flare and fret?

She was so sweet, so passing fair, With such a smile, with such an air-- What could I do? A glance as shy, as debonair, An eye as bright, a smile as rare, I never knew!

And so I smiled across the aisle, And met the winsome, merry smile She sent so bold; At last she laughed, then after while She cooed aloud in friendly style, "_I'm_ free years old!"

_University of Chicago Weekly_.

~Has It Come to This?~

A youth, with shining locks of gold,
And eyes than summer skies more blue,
With plaintive voice and modest mien,
Went forth to greet his sweetheart true.

And sang, in accents sweet and low,
Beneath, her window (so says rumor),
"Than others art thou fairer far,
Du bist wie eine _bloomer_."

MARIE REIMER. _Vassar Miscellany_.

~And the Hammock Swung On.~

"A is the maid of winning charm; B is the snug, encircling arm; How many times is A in B?" He questioned calculatively. She flushed, and said, with air sedate, "It's not quite clear; please demonstrate."

HAMILTON GREY. _Hamilton Literary Monthly_.

~The Critic.~

"Are _you_ a LAMPOON man? Not really!
Oh, dear, though, I know you must be!
That's why you've been smiling so queerly--
My goodness, you're studying _me_!
Now, _what_ have I said that is funny?
And oh, _will_ you publish it soon?"
'Tis thus, with a voice sweet as honey,
She mentions the HARVARD LAMPOON.

"Indeed, yes, I see it quite often,
The pictures are _simply_ inane;
The verses and jokes--they would soften
An average Vassar girl's brain.
Of course they are killingly comic;
I laugh, but I feel like a _loon_!"
And thus, with a fierceness atomic,
She censures the HARVARD LAMPOON.

"But then they are _bright_, I don't doubt them,
And _very_ artistic, _of course_!
Outsiders don't know all about them,
You have to explain the--the--'_horse_.'
Do send me that sweet book of 'pickings,'
I hear you will publish in June."
And thus she gives over her flickings,
And praises the HARVARD LAMPOON.

S.F. BATCHELDER. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~Her Leghorn Hat.~

Her leghorn hat has rows on rows
Of ribbon, tied with charming bows.
The crown is wreathed in dainty green,
And from their leaves there peep between
Some rosebuds white as winter snows.

The brim's so large, whene'er it blows,
Her face is hid from friends and foes,
As all must know who once have seen
Her leghorn hat.

I wonder why it droops and flows
About her face; howe'er she pose,
It always serves her as a screen;
I cannot guess, and yet I ween
It keeps the freckles from her nose,
Her leghorn hat.

_Yale Record._

~Equivocal.~

On the wealthy Larica's worn features I wrote In rhyme some extravagant praise. The verses were spurned (and I'm in the same boat), For I called them "Some _Lines_ on Her Face."

BEN JOHNSON. _Brunonian_.

~A Problem.~

My love's face is exceeding fair,
With eyes like jewels bright;
Above, a wealth of flowing hair,
A golden crown of light.

With smiles more radiant than the sun,
My love frees me from care,
And yet, when all is said and done,
I'm driven, to despair.

And if the reason you'd seek out
Why I should mournful be,
I'll tell you that I'm filled with doubt
Which girl is meant for me.

And yet I love but one sweet face,--
Oh, happy he who wins,--
But I, I'm in an awkward place,
My love, you see, is twins.

G.P. DAY. _Yale Record_.

~The Outward Shows.~

She was the _première danseuse_ of the ballet, And she tripped the light fantastic like a fay; She was so sweet and cunning, And withal so very stunning, That I was bound to meet her right away.

I went behind the scenes after the play, And imagine my surprise as well you may: This maid so sweet and cunning, And withal so very stunning, I'll swear that she was forty if a day.

_Harvard Lampoon_.

~"As Ye Sow."~

"What awful debts are these, my son?
Not one cent more, forsooth!
I never was a rake like you
In the hey-day of my youth."

"Quite right you are," the sport replied;
"And yet you twist the truth,
For once you used to rake the fields
In the hay-day of your youth."

J. J. MACK, JR. _Harvard Lampoon._

~On Afric's Golden Sands.~

A wild and warlike Zulu chief
Was he;
His costume was as brief as brief
Could be.
He vowed that he would woo and win
A maid,
But she skipped out and left him in
The shade.
At first she liked him; this was how
She ceased--
He simply _wouldn't_ wear his trou-
Sers creased.

_University Herald._

~Two Simple Little Ostriches.~

Now we can talk. Thank goodness, that old bore Who took me out is talking business o'er With some one else. The roses were so sweet, You reckless fellow. It's such fun to meet Like ordinary friends, while no one knows Our precious secret. Do you like my clothes? They're new. You dear! I'm really looking well? Why don't you like the sleeves? They're very swell. "They're more offensive than my buzz-saw hat?" What do you mean? O Jack! How simply flat! They sha'n't keep you away, dear. Now take care! No, keep your hands at home. _You've seen the Fair, Of course?_ They're listening, Jack. Do try to talk. _I'm glad they didn't have it in New York, Aren't you? Two weeks of it was quite enough. The Ferris Wheel._ You wretch! 'Twas rather rough To make me do it at all, while you sat back And howled at me. When we are married, Jack,-- O dearest, please be careful! They will guess, If you don't look less interested. Yes, yes, You know I do. Oh, dearly. By and by I'll give you three. Well, four. _Will Congress try To introduce new silver laws?_ Don't laugh! _I wish they could do something in behalf Of all the hungry people out of work_. You make me do it all, you wretched shirk. Now I must leave you, dearest. Au revoir! Don't stay forever over your cigar.

(THEIR VIS-A-VIS.)

It's not announced, but then we know it's on. It's simply low--another good man gone!

JULIET W. TOMPKINS. _Vassar Miscellany._

~Continuity and Differentiation.~

Whenever in America
A girl is asked to wed,
She straightway says, "Go ask papa,"
And coyly droops her head.

And over in the Fatherland,
Where flows the terraced Rhine,
She whispers, while he clasps her hand,
"Ich liebe dich allein."

But up in Russia, where the snow
Sweeps hissing thro' the firs,
She simply murmurs soft and low,
"Bhjushkst zwmstk rstk pbjunsk pjbrs."

_University Herald_.

~Deception.~

Among her curls with wanton glee The breezes play caressingly, Catch up stray locks with cunning grace, And as she turns aside her face, Blow them about provokingly.

Then with a smile that's fair to see
She tries, and most coquettishly,
To stop the breeze's merry race
Among her curls.

But all in vain, for now one wee
Small lock escapes, and is still free.
And as I peer beneath the lace
I see, stowed snugly in its place,
A tiny switch put secretly
Among her curls.

_Yale Record._

~George Birthington's Washday.~

There was a famous washing day, its action near the Hub; A nation's raiment in the suds, a hero at the tub. Then come, ye loyal patriots, and listen to my lay! I'll sing of good George Birthington on this, his washing day.

"The time is come," said Birthington, "when wash we really must, For, see our country's garments, how they're trampled in the dust; And Liberty's bright tunic is so sadly soiled, I ween, That nothing but a washing day will make it bright and clean."

The morning dawned, the washers came, the washing was begun; The steam rose high, nor ceased to rise till cleanliness was won. And now, though good George Birthington is gone to his repose, The grateful country still recalls how well he washed her clothes.

FLORENCE E. HOMES. _Wellesly Lyrics._

~The Freshman's Vacation.~

He had fished in the Aroostook, And he'd trolled in the Walloostook, And he'd angled in the Mattawamkeag, He had hunted Lake Umbagog, And spent weeks on Memphremagog, For he'd sworn to bring the fish home by the bag.

All too soon the summer ended, And his homeward way he wended, And he left his tent within the shady vale; But before he reached New Lyddom, He took all his fish and hid 'em In an envelope and sent them home by mail.

_University Herald_.

~A Rondel.~

"I'd draw the knot as tight as man can draw, And firm I'd make it fast by every law; Dearest, you need not speak your fond consent, Your paleness and your blush so finely blent," He gently said; "tell me my happy lot: I'd draw the knot."

But ere he could the eager phrase repeat,-- The phrase his manly fancy found so sweet,-- The modest maiden toward him turned her face: Her eyes met his a moment's rapturous space,-- She spoke, her firm glance faltering scarce a jot, "I'd rather not."

J.J. MACK, JR. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~The Ladye of the Lab.~

He fareth in a joyous wise Where runs the road 'neath gentle skies-- How should his canine heart surmise That where the red-roofed towers rise The blood is red upon the slab? His way is warm with sunlight yet, He knoweth not the sun must set; And he hath in the roadway met The Ladye of the Lab.

How should he read her face aright? Upon her brow the hair is bright, Within her eyes a tender light, Her luring hands are lily-white, Tho' blood be red upon the slab; Her calling voice is siren-sweet,-- He crouches fawning at her feet,-- It is a fatal thing to meet The Ladye of the Lab!

And she hath ta'en him with a string To where the linnets never sing, Where stiff and still is everything, And there a heart lies quivering When blood is red upon the slab; O little dog that wandered free! And hath she done this thing to thee? How may she work her will with me,-- The Ladye of the Lab!

CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. _Four-Leaved Clover_.

~Our Wrongs.~

When girls are only babies, Their mammas quite insist That they by us-- Against our wills-- Be kissed--kissed--kissed.

But when those girls Are sweet eighteen, Their mammas say we sha'n't, And though we'd like to kiss them, We can't--can't--can't.

C.F.H. _Williams Weekly_.

~A Snare and a Delusion.~

Between the trees a hammock swings
On the lawn, at twilight's glow;
Oh, what bliss sweet memory brings
Of the days of long ago!

A dainty gown of spotless white,
Moulded to a faultless form,
Fashioned like a fairy sprite,
Riding on love's tidal storm.

In the gloaming, dim discerning,
We can faintly see the book;
Softly stealing, with lore's yearning,--
Gracious heaven! it's the cook!

_Yale Record_.

~At the Junior Promenade.~

The stars were out and the moon was bright At the Junior Promenade, But all the glories of starlit night Were bated before the splendid sight Of that merry throng--and my lady in white, At the Junior Promenade.

Oh, she was tall and wondrous fair At the Junior Promenade, Her eyes were stars, and black was her hair, Her cheeks shone red in the bright light's glare: I worshiped her quite as I danced with her there, At the Junior Promenade.

She waltzed with the grace of a goddess divine At the Junior Promenade. I held her close, her hand in mine, My cheek touched the strands of her hair so fine. A perfume arose from her lips of wine, At the junior Promenade.

Such seeds of love in my heart were sown At the Junior Promenade, Till soon came the end--I was left alone, And then found out--what I cannot disown-- That I had made love to the chaperone At the Junior Promenade.

CAREY CULBERTSON. _Syllabus_.

~El Dorado.~

'Twas a youthful would-be poet,
Gazing with enraptured air
Through the starlight, when a comrade
Found him standing silent there.

"Don't disturb me," was his answer,
When addressed, "Oh, let me be!
I am filled with heavenly raptures,
For I see infinity!

"Let me gaze until I'm sated,
For at last I've found a place,
Where there's absolutely nothing
Crowded out for want of space!"

GRANT SHOWERMAN. _Wisconsin Aegis_.

~The Conversion.~

She told him surely 'twas not right To smoke a pipe from morn to night "Indeed," cried he, "what would you, dear? 'Tis but to aid my thoughts of you." "Why, then," she whispered, nestling near, "Why, then, I love your old pipe, too."

R. W. BERGENGREN. _Harvard Advocate_.

~Were It Only Now.~

I'm sitting musing in my room,
The snow is on the ground;
The moon has hid her face to-night,
And darkness is profound.
'Twas somewhat such a night as this,
A little darker, though,
I asked Bess to go sleighing, and
She said that she would go.

But just as we were starting out,
Said she, "For just us two"
(A smile played round her mouth) "I think
It much too dark, don't you?"
I did not know their wiles as yet,
I was so young and slow;
But thought she really meant it, and
I stammered, "I--think--so."

She cast at me a pitying glance,
Then in the house we went;
The balance of that evening was
In conversation spent.

* * * * *

Since then she's always been polite,
And cordial, too, you know;
But from that time I realize
I've never had a show.

A. W. BELL. _Yale Record_.

~Her Thanks.~

She thanked them all for everything, From Christmas card to diamond ring; And as her gifts she gaily flaunted, She told her friends, "Just what I wanted."

But I, who had no cash to blow, Just kissed her 'neath the mistletoe. She blushed a bit, yet never daunted, Repeated low, "Just what I wanted."

M.D. FOLLANSBEE. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~An Idyl.~

He stands before his glass in doubt;
His beard by night hath sprouted well.
He needs must scrape,--and yet without
He hears begin the lecture bell.
Too many times he's skipped the course--
He fears its doors on him may shut:
His blade is dull. Now which is worse,
To cut and shave, or shave and cut?

_Harvard Lampoon_.

~"When?"~

When Harvard's crimson cohorts came
From classic Cambridge down,
And Eli's lovers of the game
Forsook their leafy town,
And met on neutral ground to claim
The football victor's crown,

I carried Rose to see the sight,
The pageant's grand review;
We watched the struggling heroes fight,
The crimson and the blue;
The crowd was yelling with delight,
And fierce the contest grew.

First Yale rose up, an azure sea, And shouted through the din; Then Harvard yelled triumphantly, And each was sure to win, When Rosa, smiling, said to me, "When does the game begin?"

E. A. BLOUNT, JR. _Columbia Spectator_.

~An Unfortunate Phrase.~

He sent her twelve Jacqueminot roses,
All fragrant and blooming and fair,
That nestled so sweetly and shyly
'Neath smilax and maidenhair.

She sent him a letter to thank him,
On paper just tinted with blue--
"The flowers are still very fresh, John,
When I see them I think of you."

She posted her letter that morning,
He got it that evening at ten.
She can't understand what has changed him,
For he called on her never again.

F.S. _Columbia Spectator_.

~Lines to a Monkey.~

(_After reading Darwin_.)

It seems quite funny to reflect, And yet what else could we expect (If Darwin's true), That my primeval grandmamma And prehistoric grandpapa Looked just like you.

How any one could ever see Relationship 'twixt you and me I can't explain. You're such an awkward little beast, Your features are (to say the least) So very plain.

And since the rule's considered poor That doesn't work both ways, I'm sure As I can be, That ages hence, if earth endures, Some distant relative of yours Will look like me.

HENRY RUTGERS CONGER. _Williams Literary Monthly_.

~Hymns Ancient And Modern.~

ANCIENT.

Complexion like the winter snow, Just tinted by the sunset glow, Throat white as alabaster, Teeth of pearl, and hair of gold, And figure--sure in Venus's mould Th' immortal gods have east her.

And I am proud her slave to be, And deem it high felicity To die, if she should will it so. Ye fates! to-night propitious be, For I approach divinity: My life depends on "Yes" or "No."

MODERN.

Stunning girl,
Out of sight.
Guess I'll pop
Tuesday night.
Bully shape,
Pretty eyes;
Papa's rich,
Quite a prize.

Sure to have me,
Can't say no;
Lots of rocks--
It's a go.

R. L. RAYMOND. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~Nightmare Of A Freshman Sign Swiper.~

He turned and tossed upon his bed,
Repose he could not find,
For all night long such things as these
Kept coursing through his mind.

"Keep off the Grass," and "Beer on Draught,"
"H-O," and "Pyle's Pearline;"
"Look out for paint," and "Use Pear's Soap,"
Were signs which he had seen.

And in the midst of all of these
A demon seemed to dance,
Who asked him with a fiendish grin,
"I say, 'Do you wear pants?'"

W.D. FLAGG. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~What the Wild Waves Said.~

Do you hear the ocean moaning,
Ever moaning sad and low?
'Tis because that fat old bather
Stepped upon its undertow.

_University Herald_.

~A Decision.~

As a maid so nice,
With step precise,
Tripped o'er the ice,
She slipped; her care in vain.
And at the fall,
With usual gall,
The schoolboys call,
"Third down; two feet to gain."

ARTHUR LLEWELLYN ENO. _Brunonian_.

~The Thorn that Guards.~

Far in the corner on the stairs,
We were sitting together, she and I;
The murmuring music was soft and low,
Like zephyrs that float 'neath a summer sky.

She held in her fingers a deep red rose,
And was plucking the petals, one by one;
Her eyes were filled with the dreamy light
That softens the west when the day is done.

"Ah, Mildred, you are a bud yourself;
Its blushing sweetness is wholly thine;
Cannot you let me press the flower,
And keep it forever, and call it mine?"

The fair lips trembled, the dimples smiled,
Her eyes told clearly that I had lost;
But my heart still hoped, till she gently sighed,
"You forget what _American Beauties_ cost."

T.G.P. _Cornell Era_.

~A Kiss.~

"A kiss it is a poeme faire."--_Old Song._

A kiss is not like the poems at all
Which I drop through the editor's office door;
For I like it as well "returned with thanks,"
As "accepted, with a request for more."

L. _Wesleyan Literary Monthly_.

~The Modern Book.~

Extremely small or of giant size,
Bound in vellum or boards antique,
The pages of paper made by hand
With deckle edge and shape unique;
Margins four inches wide, at least,
And straggling o'er the page a line
Or two (no more), of beautiful print
In type advertised as "our own design."
You pay a price exorbitant
This cherished morsel to procure;
You get a gem of the bookman's art
And five cents' worth of literature.

M.R. _Vassar Miscellany_.

~His Father Took Him Home.~

"I was always so poor in Greek,"
_He played the guitar_,
"A 'dec' I never could speak,"
_He won every race_,
"My Latin I have to 'horse,'"
_In football a star_,
"The German is 'cribbed' perforce."
_He played second base._

S.J.R. _Madisonensis_.

~Beautiful Sprig.~

Sprig, sweet Sprig, is cobig;
For I feel it id the air,
See, the groud is gedtly thawig,
Bud ad slush are everywhere.

Dow I doff by widter fladdels,
Ad I dod by subber close;
Thed for weeks ad weeks together
Vaidly try to blow by dose.

J. P. WELSH. _Harvard Lampoon_.