rmed of graces,
Takes cephalic, likes a quid,
And is beauteous as the faces
Carved on an _Irish_ snuff-box lid.

_Cetera desunt._

The hit at the rhetoric-professor's snuff-box was only understood by
those who had seen the article referred to; and on the whole, the
performance was considered a very clever _jeu-d'esprit_ by the faculty,
who knew nothing of its paternity, and set it down as his own. Still,
as being hardly in keeping with the gravity of the occasion, it was
rejected as a part of the public exercises of the commencement.
Anticipating this result, however, Daniel had provided himself, by
virtue of a basket of Spitzenbergs, with a few stanzas of metre,
entitled "An Ode on Ambition," which were more successful. It was
written by a young gentleman who has since taken several silver cups
for theatrical prize-addresses, full of phoenixes, and the Greek
classics from Lempriere. He has also been a large contributor to those
beautifully printed, useful, and fashionable hebdomadals, the
Milliners' Literary Gazette, Young Ladies' Companion, _et id genus
omne_. The ode ran thus:--

The warrior fights, and dies for fame--
The empty glories of a name;--
But we who linger round this spot,
The warrior's guerdon covet Nott.

Nott for the miser's glittering heap
Within these walls is bartered sleep;
The humble scholar's quiet lot
With dreams of wealth is troubled Nott.

While poring o'er the midnight lamp,
In rooms too cold, and sometimes damp,
O man, who land and cash hast got,
Thy life of ease we envy Nott.

Our troubles here are light and few;--
An empty purse when bills fall due,
A locker, without e'er a shot,--
Hard recitations, or a Knot.

Ty problem, which we can't untie,--
Our only shirt hung out to dry,--
A chum who never pays his scot,--
Such ills as these we value Nott.

O, cherished *****! learning's home,
Where'er the fates may bid us roam,
Though friends and kindred be forgot,
Be sure we shall forget thee Nott.

For years of peaceful, calm content,
To science and hard study lent,
Though others thy good name may blot,
T'were wondrous if we loved thee Nott.

There was a touch of waggery, if not of mischief, in these verses,
which happened to escape detection from the faculty, though not very
artfully concealed. But the terminations of the