The game was won, and we’d begun to cheer each man respectively; We rah! rah! rahed! and blew horns hard, and shook our flags effectively; His eyes shone bright, as left and right they called to him vivaciously; I my disdain recalled with pain, and waved my banner graciously.

Now let him miss the German quiz, and fail to pass astronomy,
To football lore what’s physics or political economy? 
To have him bow is rapture now, to be o’erlooked adversity;
To catch his smile is worth the while attending University.

HENRIETTA L. STADTMULLER.
Sequoia.

Drinking Song.

Let sparkling wine o’erbrim the glass,
  And kiss its lips in haste to fly;
But though it would to glory pass,
  It is not eager as am I.
I fain would drain the utmost drop,
  And leave the beaker’s hollow bare,
For when I turn its foot atop,
  I see my true love’s image there.

Each bubble of the dancing wine
  Symbols a love-kiss softly given,
And rising upward is a sign
  That earth hath joys to equal heaven. 
Ah! were the cup a league in rim,
  And deep as is the ocean’s blue,
I’d hold its girth were all too slim
  And wine of kisses thrice too few.

B.A.  GOULD, JR.
Harvard Lampoon.

Sour Valentines.

To-morrow is the day for valentines;
  Then let me leave my thesis for a space,
Lower the lamplight on these weary lines,
  And dream a little in the shadowed place. 
In my three years at college, I have named
  My Valentine and kept the season thrice;
The jolly saint himself is to be blamed
  If I have never had the same one twice.

In Freshman days, with all about me strange,
  And home’s sweet halo shining on my way,
My heart had never known the sense of change,
  And one dear face was with me day by day;
So, when the time was here, I wrote my verse
  And drew the heart and arrow up above,
And, happy in the thought I might do worse,
  I sent it off to Mother with my love.

When I had felt the thrill of Sophomore days,
  My thoughts were given to a dainty maid
At college with me, and in woodland ways
  And quiet music-rooms my court I paid. 
But, with, my Junior dignity, I chose
  My Queen abroad, within the city’s glare,
Forgot the violet for the gayer rose,
  And lost my heart and pocket-money there.

Saint Valentine, those days were long ago;
  Your power is lost upon this penitent,
For, with my Senior gravity, I know
  That life means more than your light sentiment. 
And yet, this once, your day shall have from me
  Some of the old observance, though I scoff;
My thesis waits,—­my Valentine shall be
  The old-maid sister of my major prof.

CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD.
Sequoia.

The Banjo Fiend.

There is a fellow across the way
Who plays the banjo night and day,
And all you ever hear him play,
Is plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk.