swer, Prudence, answer, no.
And bid me do it right or not at all.

THE WASTER SINGING AT MIDNIGHT

AFTER LONGFELLOW

Loud he sang the song Ta Phershon
For his personal diversion,
Sang the chorus U-pi-dee,
Sang about the Barley Bree.

In that hour when all is quiet
Sang he songs of noise and riot,
In a voice so loud and queer
That I wakened up to hear.

Songs that distantly resembled
Those one hears from men assembled
In the old Cross Keys Hotel,
Only sung not half so well.

For the time of this ecstatic
Amateur was most erratic,
And he only hit the key
Once in every melody.

If 'he wot prigs wot isn't his'n
Ven he's cotched is sent to prison,'
He who murders sleep might well
Adorn a solitary cell.

But, if no obliging peeler
Will arrest this midnight squealer,
My own peculiar arm of might
Must undertake the job to-night.

THIRTY YEARS AFTER

Two old St. Andrews men, after a separation of nearly thirty years, meet
by chance at a wayside inn. They interchange experiences; and at length
one of them, who is an admirer of Mr. Swinburne's _Poems and Ballads_,
speaks as follows:

If you were now a bejant,
And I a first year man,
We'd grind and grub together
In every kind of weather,
When Winter's snows were regent,
Or when the Spring began;
If you were now a bejant,
And I a first year man.

If you were what you once were,
And I the same man still,
You'd be the gainer by it,
For you--you can't deny it--
A most uncommon dunce were;
My profit would be nil,
If you were what you once were,
And I the same man still.

If you were last in Latin,
And I were first in Greek,
I'd write your Latin proses,
While you indulged in dozes,
Or carved the bench you sat in,
So innocent and meek;
If you were last in Latin,
And I were first in Greek.

If I had got a prize, Jim,
And your certif. was bad,
And you were filled with sorrow
And brooding on the morrow,
I'd gently sympathise, Jim,
And bid you not be sad,
If I had got a prize, Jim,
And your certif. was bad.

If I were through in Moral,
And you were spun in Math.,
I'd break it to your parent,
When you confessed you daren't,
And so avert a quarrel
And smooth away his wrath;
If I were through in Moral,
And you were spun in Math.

My prospects rather shone, Jim,
And yours were rather dark,
And those who knew us both then
Would often take their oath then,
That you would no