ARTHUR KETCHUM. Williams Literary Monthly.
~A Cup and Saucer Episode.~
'Twas only coffee, yet we both drank deep,
I won't deny I felt intoxication;
For just to see those roguish moon-eyes peep
Over the cup, I plunged in dissipation.
She raised her cup, and I raised also mine;
She gave a look, as if "Now are you ready?"
Our eyes met o'er the rims—it seemed like wine,
So sweet, divine, bewitching, almost "heady."
So cup on cup! The salad, too, was good.
I had of that far more than my fair rations.
Yet served it merely as an interlude
Between the music of the cup flirtations.
And then to have her say 'twas all my fault!
I fairly blushed, and gazed down at my cup.
I noticed, though, she had not called the halt
Until the pot was empty, every sup.
BERT ROSS. Harvard Advocate.
~Faint Heart Ne'er Won Fair Lady.~
"The burn runs swiftly, my dainty lass,
And its foam-wreathed stones are mossy,
An I carry ye ower to yonder shore
Ye will na think me saucy?"
"I thank ye, sir, but a Scottish lass
Recks not of a little wetting.
Will ye stand aside, sir? I can na bide, sir.
The sun o' the gloamin's setting."