On his own ground as a masher, on the street
He outdid a Turkish Pasha, who stood treat;
He gave Shanghai girls the jumps,
And their cheeks stuck out like mumps
At the patent-leather pumps upon his feet.
But he called upon a Boston girl one night,
With a necktie ready-made, which wasn't right;
And she looked at him, this maid did,
And he faded, and he faded,
And he faded, and he faded out of sight.
The Tech.
~Her Present.~
He had hinted at diamonds, a fan by Watteau,
A fine water spaniel,—so great was his zeal,—
A chatelaine watch, or a full set of Poe,
And then at the end sent a padded Lucile.
F. Harvard Lampoon.
~On the Weather.~
The sultry stillness of a summer's day
Oppresses every sense. The droning bees
Alone the silence break, and restless play
The shadows of the gently swaying trees.
The very ripples in the stream are still,
Save now and then a low and gentle swash,
All which doth try me sore against my will—
So hot! And all my ducks are in the wash.
FERRIS GREENSLET. Wesleyan Literary Monthly.