She held in her fingers a deep red rose,
  And was plucking the petals, one by one;
Her eyes were filled with the dreamy light
  That softens the west when the day is done.

“Ah, Mildred, you are a bud yourself;
  Its blushing sweetness is wholly thine;
Cannot you let me press the flower,
  And keep it forever, and call it mine?”

The fair lips trembled, the dimples smiled,
  Her eyes told clearly that I had lost;
But my heart still hoped, till she gently sighed,
  “You forget what American Beauties cost.”

T.G.P.
Cornell Era.

A Kiss.

“A kiss it is a poeme faire.”—­Old Song.

A kiss is not like the poems at all
  Which I drop through the editor’s office door;
For I like it as well “returned with thanks,”
  As “accepted, with a request for more.”

L.
Wesleyan Literary Monthly.

The Modern Book.

Extremely small or of giant size,
  Bound in vellum or boards antique,
The pages of paper made by hand
  With deckle edge and shape unique;
Margins four inches wide, at least,
  And straggling o’er the page a line
Or two (no more), of beautiful print
  In type advertised as “our own design.” 
You pay a price exorbitant
  This cherished morsel to procure;
You get a gem of the bookman’s art
  And five cents’ worth of literature.

M.R.
Vassar Miscellany.

His Father Took Him Home.

“I was always so poor in Greek,”
             He played the guitar,
“A ‘dec’ I never could speak,”
             He won every race,
“My Latin I have to ‘horse,’”
             In football a star,
“The German is ‘cribbed’ perforce.”
             He played second base.

S.J.R.
Madisonensis.

Beautiful Sprig.

Sprig, sweet Sprig, is cobig;
  For I feel it id the air,
See, the groud is gedtly thawig,
  Bud ad slush are everywhere.

Dow I doff by widter fladdels,
  Ad I dod by subber close;
Thed for weeks ad weeks together
  Vaidly try to blow by dose.

J. P. WELSH.
Harvard Lampoon.

III.  COLLEGE AND CAMPUS

The Way of It.

A little learning, scattered o’er
A frolic of four years or more. 
Then—­Presto, change!—­and you create
The sober college graduate!

Yale Record.

Comfort.

With pipe and book, an old armchair,
A glowing hearth, what need I care
  For empty honors, wealth or fame? 
  Grant me but this:  an honest name,
A cup of ale, a coat to wear,
And then, while smoke wreaths rift the air,
The banquet of the gods I share,
  Content to sit before the flame
      With pipe and book.