arm;
How many times is A in B?"
He questioned calculatively.
She flushed, and said, with air sedate,
"It's not quite clear; please demonstrate."

HAMILTON GREY.
_Hamilton Literary Monthly_.

~The Critic.~

"Are _you_ a LAMPOON man? Not really!
Oh, dear, though, I know you must be!
That's why you've been smiling so queerly--
My goodness, you're studying _me_!
Now, _what_ have I said that is funny?
And oh, _will_ you publish it soon?"
'Tis thus, with a voice sweet as honey,
She mentions the HARVARD LAMPOON.

"Indeed, yes, I see it quite often,
The pictures are _simply_ inane;
The verses and jokes--they would soften
An average Vassar girl's brain.
Of course they are killingly comic;
I laugh, but I feel like a _loon_!"
And thus, with a fierceness atomic,
She censures the HARVARD LAMPOON.

"But then they are _bright_, I don't doubt them,
And _very_ artistic, _of course_!
Outsiders don't know all about them,
You have to explain the--the--'_horse_.'
Do send me that sweet book of 'pickings,'
I hear you will publish in June."
And thus she gives over her flickings,
And praises the HARVARD LAMPOON.

S.F. BATCHELDER.
_Harvard Lampoon_.

~Her Leghorn Hat.~

Her leghorn hat has rows on rows
Of ribbon, tied with charming bows.
The crown is wreathed in dainty green,
And from their leaves there peep between
Some rosebuds white as winter snows.

The brim's so large, whene'er it blows,
Her face is hid from friends and foes,
As all must know who once have seen
Her leghorn hat.

I wonder why it droops and flows
About her face; howe'er she pose,
It always serves her as a screen;
I cannot guess, and yet I ween
It keeps the freckles from her nose,
Her leghorn hat.

_Yale Record._

~Equivocal.~

On the wealthy Larica's worn features I wrote
In rhyme some extravagant praise.
The verses were spurned (and I'm in the same boat),
For I called them "Some _Lines_ on Her Face."

BEN JOHNSON.
_Brunonian_.

~A Problem.~

My love's face is exceeding fair,
With eyes like jewels bright;
Above, a wealth of flowing hair,
A golden crown of light.

With smiles more radiant than the sun,
My love frees me from care,
And yet, when all is said and done,
I'm driven, to despair.

And if the reason you'd seek out
Why I should mournful be,
I'll tell you that I'm filled with doubt
Which girl is meant for me.

And yet I love but one sweet face,--
Oh,