he saw fit to cast his dart;
Is it a thing to cause dismay
If I confess I lost my heart?

ENVOY.

What if I kissed her? Jealous they
Who scoff at buyers in true love's mart.
Who can my sound good sense gainsay
If I confess I lost my heart?

GUY WETMORE CARRYL.
_Columbia Spectator_.

~Perdita.~

'Twas only a tiny, withered rose,
But it once belonged to Grace.
The goody didn't know that, I suppose--
'Twas only a tiny, withered rose,
No longer sweet to the eye or nose,
So she tossed it out from the Dresden vase.--
'Twas only a tiny, withered rose,
But it once belonged to Grace.

_Harvard Advocate_.

~Strategy.~

Some, Cupid kills with arrows,
Some, with traps;
But this spring the little rascal
Found, perhaps,
That he needed both to slay me;
So he laid a cunning snare
On the hillside, and he hid it
In a lot of maidenhair;
And I doubt not he is laughing
At the joke,
For he made his arrows out of
Poison-oak.

CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD.
_Sequoia_.

~Canoe Song.~

Dip! Dip! Softly slip
Down the river shining wide,
Dim and far the dark banks are;
Life is love and naught beside.
Onward, drifting with the tide.

Drip, drip, from paddle tip
Myriad ripples swirl and swoon;
Shiv'ring 'mid the ruddy stars,
Mirrored in the deep lagoon,
Faintly floats the mummied moon.

Soft, soft, high aloft,--
Ever thus till time is done,--
Worlds will die; may thou and I
Glide beneath a gentler sun,
Young as now and ever one.

E. FRERE CHAMPNEY.
_Harvard Advocate._

~A Rambling Rhyme of Dorothy.~

When ye Crocuss shews his heade
& ye Wyndes of Marche have flede,
Springe doth come, and happylye
Then I thinke of
Dorothy.

Haycockes fragrante in ye sun
Give me reste when taskes are done:
Summer's here, & merrylye
Then I dreame of
Dorothy.

Scarlette leaves & heapinge binne;
Cyder, ye cool Tankard in;
Autumn's come. Righte jollylye
Then I drinke to
Dorothy.

When ye Northe Wynde sweeps ye snowe
& Icyclles hange all belowe,
Then, for soothe, Olde Winter, he
Letts me dance with
Dorothy!

ARTHUR CHENEY TRAIN.
_Harvard Advocate._

~The Prof.'s Little Girl.~

She comes to the Quad when her Ladyship pleases,
And loiters at will in the sun and the shade;
As free from the burden of work as the breezes
That play with the bamboo is this little maid.
The tongues of the bells, as they beat out the morning,
Like mad in their echoing