Plunged in tobacco smoke,
With many a desperate stroke,
Dozens of bottles broke;
Then they came back, but not,
Not the half hundred!"
Lest from this merry squib, which doubtless celebrated some college prank, wrong conclusions should be drawn, I hasten to say that in college James Garfield neither drank nor smoked.
The next poem is rather long, but it possesses interest as a serious production of one whose name has become a household word. It is entitled
"MEMORY.
"'Tis beauteous night; the stars look brightly down
Upon the earth, decked in her robe of snow.