ll accept; accompanying it is a little
bundle of fire-crackers dear to every patriotic heart. The best way to
appreciate them is to tie them together with their fuming little
projecting frizzles, set fire to the last one and throw them on the
street; the result will astonish you, I am sure.

And now, my dear friends, you have seen the merits of my system, but
it is with pain that I point out its only defect. I give prizes to the
worst ones at school, the only trouble is there are so few "worst"
that the list of prize-winners is naturally small. But I hope you will
acknowledge that its defect is amply compensated for by its other
excellencies.

A Tale of Woe

BY MISS CARRIE R. PURCELL.

(_Read on Class Night, Tuesday, June 2, 1891._)

Listen my friends, and you shall hear
A _dreadful_ poem which I have here.
'Tis about the class of '91,
And a harrowing tale when once begun.
A tale that will make you all shiver and shake;
The thought of it now is making me quake.

'Tis a tale of struggle and grief and woe,
Of the girls who wrote fast, and the girls who wrote slow,
Of girls who came early, of girls who came late,
Of those who had plenty, others, none to dictate.
Of the girls who held pencils as if they were pills,
Of others, who held them as if they had chills.
Of the dear darling girls who did everything (write) right,
Of other unfortunates weeping all night,
Oh! indeed, my dear friends, 'twas a terrible sight.

Of a dear kindly teacher who came every night,
And who stayed long after the electric light,
Of the class in a circle the teacher around,
While he watched every outline, and heard every sound.
And the five minutes recess to catch the fresh air.
Of return to the circle and "catching" it there;
Of the girls who can stand up and read as they'd write.
Of others who couldn't if they stood up all night;
Ah! yes indeed, 'twas a pitiful plight.

Of Complaints and of Answers, of Leases and Deeds;
Of all kinds of letters for business men's needs;
Of good sound advice as we all neared the end,
From our dear kind Instructor, who is "also our friend."
Of that dread Monday eve which had long been expected;
Of the papers accepted, and the papers rejected.
Of this beautiful calm which has followed that night;
And I'm