Chapter 3 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.

[Illustration: "THAT SWEET GIRL GRADUATE."]

~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."