Of the butter and sugar you hived from the mess.

Now when to the blackboard for trial you stand,
Keep steady, be ready, your chalk in your hand.
Don't think of failing; stand well on your ground;
Don't let it be said--a man has been found.

* * * * *

This poem is respectfully dedicated to the Corps of Cadets, by

THEIR MATERNAL FRIEND.

[Illustration: THE BARRACKS.
(Photographed by G. W. Pack.)]

GRAND CELEBRATION.

_With Pyrotechnic Lights, at the Military Academy, by Santa Claus,
12 o'clock, 1880._

Hark! what's that that bursts on the midnight air?
"The Cadets are loose," said a lady fair.
"Cadets loose?" echoed her puzzled spouse,
As he rose in haste and donned his clothes.

From "Siege Gun Battery" came a roar
That echoed back from shore to shore,
Rumbling along under old Cro' Nest,
And sunk in the far-off hills to rest.

Just at this juncture came pouring forth
From every window in the north
Of the Barrack building grim and gray,
And chased the moonbeams out of the way,

The grandest sight that ever was seen,
Or ever will be again, I ween,--
Rockets, Roman Candles and Blue Lights clear,
To welcome in the glad New Year.

With the booming of cannon and grand "fish-horn"
Eighteen hundred and eighty was born;
This fine little fellow was ushered in
With rocket's roar and fish-horn's din.

What means this noise and running around,
Looking for something that's not to be found?
For every door was relieved of its handle
By some friend, of course, surely not by a vandal,

To keep intruders who were stalking around
From wakening the boys who were sleeping so sound,
Dreaming of fish-horns and other such things
That Santa Claus always to the children brings.

[Illustration: THE COLOR GUARD.
(By Cadet Cameron, Class of '83.)]

Just at this moment came a loud crash--
A window is broken in with a smash,
And a voice calls out, "Bring me an axe!"
And on his near neighbor he levied the tax.

I'll let him see, thought the neighbor, who'll lift the latch,
As he handed him out the innocent match;
The reason was this, St. Nick had been busy an hour or more,
And that was the reason he'd fastened the door.

'Tis the midnight hour; the Long Roll has beat,
And brought every boy in a jiff to his feet,
In the area of the Barracks, on the cold, damp ground,
And not a delinquent is to be found,

Except the little fellow who was locked in hi