~"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.