University Herald.

Two Simple Little Ostriches.

Now we can talk.  Thank goodness, that old bore
Who took me out is talking business o’er
With some one else.  The roses were so sweet,
You reckless fellow.  It’s such fun to meet
Like ordinary friends, while no one knows
Our precious secret.  Do you like my clothes? 
They’re new.  You dear!  I’m really looking well? 
Why don’t you like the sleeves?  They’re very swell. 
“They’re more offensive than my buzz-saw hat?”
What do you mean?  O Jack!  How simply flat! 
They sha’n’t keep you away, dear.  Now take care! 
No, keep your hands at home. You’ve seen the Fair,
Of course? They’re listening, Jack.  Do try to talk.
I’m glad they didn’t have it in New York,
Aren’t you?  Two weeks of it was quite enough. 
The Ferris Wheel. You wretch!  ’Twas rather rough
To make me do it at all, while you sat back
And howled at me.  When we are married, Jack,—­
O dearest, please be careful!  They will guess,
If you don’t look less interested.  Yes, yes,
You know I do.  Oh, dearly.  By and by
I’ll give you three.  Well, four. Will Congress try
To introduce new silver laws? Don’t laugh!
I wish they could do something in behalf
Of all the hungry people out of work. 
You make me do it all, you wretched shirk. 
Now I must leave you, dearest.  Au revoir! 
Don’t stay forever over your cigar.

(THEIR VIS-A-VIS.)

It’s not announced, but then we know it’s on. 
It’s simply low—­another good man gone!

JULIET W. TOMPKINS.
Vassar Miscellany.

Continuity and Differentiation.

Whenever in America
  A girl is asked to wed,
She straightway says, “Go ask papa,”
  And coyly droops her head.

And over in the Fatherland,
  Where flows the terraced Rhine,
She whispers, while he clasps her hand,
  “Ich liebe dich allein.”

But up in Russia, where the snow
  Sweeps hissing thro’ the firs,
She simply murmurs soft and low,
  “Bhjushkst zwmstk rstk pbjunsk pjbrs.”

University Herald.

Deception.

Among her curls with wanton glee
The breezes play caressingly,
  Catch up stray locks with cunning grace,
  And as she turns aside her face,
Blow them about provokingly.

Then with a smile that’s fair to see
She tries, and most coquettishly,
  To stop the breeze’s merry race
      Among her curls.

But all in vain, for now one wee
Small lock escapes, and is still free. 
  And as I peer beneath the lace
  I see, stowed snugly in its place,
A tiny switch put secretly
  Among her curls.

Yale Record.

George Birthington’s Washday.

There was a famous washing day, its action near the Hub;
A nation’s raiment in the suds, a hero at the tub. 
Then come, ye loyal patriots, and listen to my lay! 
I’ll sing of good George Birthington on this, his washing day.