F.R.D.B.
Garnet.

A Panacea.

If your health is not quite right,
If you have no appetite,
If you cannot sleep at night,
      Light your pipe.

If conditions round you press,
If your stock of cuts grows less,
Spoiling all your happiness,
      Light your pipe.

If your debts upon you weigh,
If your bills you cannot pay,
As they come in day by day,
      Light your pipe.

There’s no trouble in this land,
Lack of wealth, or loss of stand,
Loss of health, or lady’s hand,
Which can this sure cure withstand! 
      Light your pipe.

R.O.  RYDER.
Yale Record.

A Toast.

What though the storm-king growls in rage,
  And the daylight fast is dimming;
We’ll add to the score on Mem’ry’s page,
  While the butt with cheer is brimming.

And Love shall be the tapster gay,
  To draw at nod or winking;
And whether the clouds be gold or gray,
  Here’s to the cup and its clinking!

Those moist lips, touched in single bliss,
  More constant are than lovers’;
Their foamy depth holds many a kiss,
  And many a sigh it smothers.

Then ho for the blood of youth, say I,
  And the mad, glad hopes it bringeth;
For the palsied step of Age draws nigh,—­
“Sans hope, sans joy!” he singeth.

A. K. LANE.
Tuftonian.

A Ballade of College Girls.

What do the dear girls learn nowadays,
  At all the colleges where they go? 
They’ve no cane-rushes nor football frays;
  Whence can their wealth of wisdom flow? 
  Up at Wellesley they learn to row;
Gowns and mortar-boards there are swell;
  They flirt in the shades of “Tupelo”: 
I have been there,—­but I won’t tell!

The Smith girls had the dramatic craze,
  And even the critics puffed their show;
The Amherst men are loud in their praise;
  They diet on pickled limes and Poe. 
  At good Mount Holyoke, which some deem slow,
They learn to cook and to sweep as well;
  Along with their Greek they’re taught to sew: 
I have been there,—­but I won’t tell!

Cornell’s “co-eds” have flattering ways;
  Many a soul they have filled with woe;
Up at Vassar they’re prone to stays,
  And no girl there can have a beau;
All those beautiful blooms must throw
Their sweetness away where no man may dwell;
  Rules can be cheated, sometimes, though: 
I have been there,—­but I won’t tell!

ENVOY.

Girls, the Blue and the Crimson know
  How a tryst is kept after bedtime bell. 
“Hush-sh,” you whisper, “be cautious!” Oh,
  I have been there,—­but I won’t tell!

F.R.  BATCHELDER.
Harvard Lampoon.

Ballade of the Alumna.

How sadly in these latter days,
  In search of memories bitter-sweet,
We tread the once-accustomed ways
  With step grown slow, and lagging feet,—­
  Timed to the pulse’s slower beat,—­
And climb the stair and reach the floor,
  To find—­alas! how time is fleet! 
Another’s name is on the door!