The bell rings.  My friend, the Professor,
  Is beginning to read out the roll. 
How time drags!  Am I present?  Oh, yes, sir,
  But, oh, what a blank is my soul. 
I fear that my cunning has left me,
  Inspiration refuses to guide,
The rouse of her aid has bereft me,
  And the editor’s waiting outside.

GUY WETMORE CARRYL.
Columbia Spectator.

A Written Lesson.

I was happy that day,
  For I knew what to say,
  And I knew how to tell it;
But I found with dismay,
As is always the way,
When I know what to say,
  And know how to tell it,
That I know what to say
  But I never can spell it.

S.W.  CHAMBERLAIN.
Vassar Miscellany.

 [Illustration:  “THE IDEAL CO-ED”]

The Deal Closed.

The ideal co-ed is a thing of books,
  A creature of brain entirely;
With stooping shoulders and studious looks,
  She digs all day and half the night;
  People say she is wondrous bright,
  But her figure’s an awful sight! 
Her thoughts are deep in the classic past,
She only thinks of A. B. at last;
  She has fled this world and its masculine charms,
  And a refuge found in Minerva’s arms.

Now, the kind of co-ed that I describe
  Is a co-ed seen very rarely;
The real co-ed’s a thing of grace,
With dainty figure and winsome face;
  She walks and rides, and she cuts, mon Dieu! 
  But every professor lets her through;
For her each year is a round of joy,
A. B. means nothing if not “A Boy,”
  And you and I must yield to her charms,
  And take the place of Minerva’s arms,

CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD.
Stanford Quad.

Conditioned.

Dear old pipe, my oldest friend,
  Brier of darkest hue,
How I long to smoke and dream—­
  I’m in love with you.

Good old beer, an oft-tried friend,
  Best and choicest brew,
How I long for you again—­
  I’m in love with you.

Laughing lips and rosy cheeks,
  Eyes of deepest blue,
You I long for most of all—­
  I’m in love with you.

Tempt me not, my dear old friends,
  I have work to do—­
Four conditions in a term—­
  For I loved but you.

Brunonian.

Evening on the Campus.

Behind a screen of western hills
  The sunset color fades to-night;
Along the arching corridors
  Long shadows steal with footsteps light. 
The banners of the day are furled;
  Thro’ darkening space the twilight creeps
And smooths the forehead of the world
  Until he sleeps.

The oak-trees closer draw their hoods;
  A bird, belated, wings his dim,
Uncertain flight, and far above
  A star looks down and laughs at him;
The sky and mountains melt in one;
  Tall gum-trees range their ranks around;
The white walk marks its length upon
  The velvet ground.