"A GRIEVOUS THING HE FEELS IT TO BE PLOUGHED."
He looked glum when he heard, by a friendly note
Which, of course, his chum sent in a hurry,
That, alas! he had no testamur got;
And he felt in a deuce of a flurry.
He thought how he'd read at dead of night,
The page of Herodotus turning,
By the tallow-candle's flickering light,
Or the moderator burning.
No ruthless coughing arose from his chest,