you, my pet,
Have something that is softer yet!"

"That I? I have? Oh, can it be?
You darling, now I _do_ love thee!"
Oh, Vanitas! No sooner said,
She put her hand upon his head.

A. BRADLEY.
_Columbia Spectator_.

~A Football Tragedy.~

She clung to him, the game was o'er.
Content was in her soul;
"Dear heart, I'm very happy now
That you have come back whole."

With gentle hand he smoothed her curls,
And tried to keep a laugh back;
"My dear, your joy is premature,
For I am only _half-back_."

_University of Chicago Weekly_.

~It Was.~

He seized her in the dark and kissed her,
And for a moment bliss was his;
"Oh, my! I thought it was my sister!"
He cried. She laughed and said, "It is."

_Yale Record_.

~A Summer Campaign.~

I've travelled from the coast of Maine
To Jersey's balmy shore.
Nor have my efforts been in vain,
For maids I've won galore.

In mountain climbs I spent my breath,
On lakes and rivers, too;
I flirted here with coy Beth,
And there with lovely Sue.

No tournament, no sail, nor hop,
Without me was complete;
Nor from love-making did I stop,
Till all were at my feet.

The summer's gone upon the run,
Maids utter sighs in billows;
I've broken sixteen hearts and won
Just sixteen sofa pillows.

J. H. SCRANTON.
_Yale Record_.

~From June to June.~

Two lovers 'mong the weedy brake
Were rowing--happy pair!
They drifted far upon the lake
To get the sun and air.

A year has fled. Again they float;
But one is now the pair,
And three are riding in the boat--
They bring their _son_ and _heir_.

NORMAN STAUNTON DIKE.
_Brunonian_.

~At the North Avenue Fire.~

The boy stood in the burning block,
Whence all but him had fled;
He smashed the china on a rock,
But saved the feather bed.

A.M. WHITE, JR.
_Harvard Lampoon_.

~I Love my Love.~

Every one thinks some face fairer
Than all others in the land,
Thinks this one alone is perfect,
Vows to her his heart and hand.

Then he sings in loudest praises
Of her wealth of golden hair,
Of her lips like ripest cherries,
She alone divinely fair.

But there's one that's quite forgotten,
One whose charms they fail to see;
Yet in my abject devotion
Fairest of the fair is she.

There's not one half so entrancing
Or so makes my poor heart thrill--
It is Martha Washington's picture
On a bright one dollar bill.

J. P. SAWYER.
_Yale Record_.

~The Diva.~

Gone are her