You make me do it all, you wretched shirk.
Now I must leave you, dearest. Au revoir!
Don't stay forever over your cigar.

(THEIR VIS-A-VIS.)

It's not announced, but then we know it's on.
It's simply low--another good man gone!

JULIET W. TOMPKINS.
_Vassar Miscellany._

~Continuity and Differentiation.~

Whenever in America
A girl is asked to wed,
She straightway says, "Go ask papa,"
And coyly droops her head.

And over in the Fatherland,
Where flows the terraced Rhine,
She whispers, while he clasps her hand,
"Ich liebe dich allein."

But up in Russia, where the snow
Sweeps hissing thro' the firs,
She simply murmurs soft and low,
"Bhjushkst zwmstk rstk pbjunsk pjbrs."

_University Herald_.

~Deception.~

Among her curls with wanton glee
The breezes play caressingly,
Catch up stray locks with cunning grace,
And as she turns aside her face,
Blow them about provokingly.

Then with a smile that's fair to see
She tries, and most coquettishly,
To stop the breeze's merry race
Among her curls.

But all in vain, for now one wee
Small lock escapes, and is still free.
And as I peer beneath the lace
I see, stowed snugly in its place,
A tiny switch put secretly
Among her curls.

_Yale Record._

~George Birthington's Washday.~

There was a famous washing day, its action near the Hub;
A nation's raiment in the suds, a hero at the tub.
Then come, ye loyal patriots, and listen to my lay!
I'll sing of good George Birthington on this, his washing day.

"The time is come," said Birthington, "when wash we really must,
For, see our country's garments, how they're trampled in the dust;
And Liberty's bright tunic is so sadly soiled, I ween,
That nothing but a washing day will make it bright and clean."

The morning dawned, the washers came, the washing was begun;
The steam rose high, nor ceased to rise till cleanliness was won.
And now, though good George Birthington is gone to his repose,
The grateful country still recalls how well he washed her clothes.

FLORENCE E. HOMES.
_Wellesly Lyrics._

~The Freshman's Vacation.~

He had fished in the Aroostook,
And he'd trolled in the Walloostook,
And he'd angled in the Mattawamkeag,
He had hunted Lake Umbagog,
And spent weeks on Memphremagog,
For he'd sworn to bring the fish home by the bag.

All too soon the summer ended,
And his homeward way he wended,
And he left his tent within the shady vale;
But before he re