THE COLOR GUARD.
(By Cadet Cameron, Class of '83.)
Just at this moment came a loud crash—
A window is broken in with a smash,
And a voice calls out, "Bring me an axe!"
And on his near neighbor he levied the tax.
I'll let him see, thought the neighbor, who'll lift the latch,
As he handed him out the innocent match;
The reason was this, St. Nick had been busy an hour or more,
And that was the reason he'd fastened the door.
'Tis the midnight hour; the Long Roll has beat,
And brought every boy in a jiff to his feet,
In the area of the Barracks, on the cold, damp ground,
And not a delinquent is to be found,
Except the little fellow who was locked in his room
By some naughty boy, and of course could not come.
From the hall-ways came running, all loose to be sure,
Every boy, in a hurry his place to secure,
And there on the cold ground, in the night air to stand,
While the searchers were looking for things contraband.
In a room two Rockets were picked up by a scout,
That Santa Claus dropped as he made his way out.
While up in the cockloft, so cosy and snug,
Lay the old brass cannon, like a "bug in a rug,"
Where Santa Claus left it to be raised up higher,
And then, after all, the old thing hung fire.
What can be the matter? what's all this about?
That every boy from his bed is turned out
In the night air to shiver and freeze,
With nought on his feet but his old Reveilles?