"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.~