ached New Lyddom,
He took all his fish and hid 'em
In an envelope and sent them home by mail.

_University Herald_.

~A Rondel.~

"I'd draw the knot as tight as man can draw,
And firm I'd make it fast by every law;
Dearest, you need not speak your fond consent,
Your paleness and your blush so finely blent,"
He gently said; "tell me my happy lot:
I'd draw the knot."

But ere he could the eager phrase repeat,--
The phrase his manly fancy found so sweet,--
The modest maiden toward him turned her face:
Her eyes met his a moment's rapturous space,--
She spoke, her firm glance faltering scarce a jot,
"I'd rather not."

J.J. MACK, JR.
_Harvard Lampoon_.

~The Ladye of the Lab.~

He fareth in a joyous wise
Where runs the road 'neath gentle skies--
How should his canine heart surmise
That where the red-roofed towers rise
The blood is red upon the slab?
His way is warm with sunlight yet,
He knoweth not the sun must set;
And he hath in the roadway met
The Ladye of the Lab.

How should he read her face aright?
Upon her brow the hair is bright,
Within her eyes a tender light,
Her luring hands are lily-white,
Tho' blood be red upon the slab;
Her calling voice is siren-sweet,--
He crouches fawning at her feet,--
It is a fatal thing to meet
The Ladye of the Lab!

And she hath ta'en him with a string
To where the linnets never sing,
Where stiff and still is everything,
And there a heart lies quivering
When blood is red upon the slab;
O little dog that wandered free!
And hath she done this thing to thee?
How may she work her will with me,--
The Ladye of the Lab!

CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD.
_Four-Leaved Clover_.

~Our Wrongs.~

When girls are only babies,
Their mammas quite insist
That they by us--
Against our wills--
Be kissed--kissed--kissed.

But when those girls
Are sweet eighteen,
Their mammas say we sha'n't,
And though we'd like to kiss them,
We can't--can't--can't.

C.F.H.
_Williams Weekly_.

~A Snare and a Delusion.~

Between the trees a hammock swings
On the lawn, at twilight's glow;
Oh, what bliss sweet memory brings
Of the days of long ago!

A dainty gown of spotless white,
Moulded to a faultless form,
Fashioned like a fairy sprite,
Riding on love's tidal storm.

In the gloaming, dim discerning,
We can faintly see the book;
Softly stealing, with lore's yearning,--
Gracious heaven! it's the cook!

_Yale Record_.

~At the Juni