one pang for wasted hours, I gave
Another meaning to my faltering lay,
And sang of Life and Pain, an early grave,
Hope and Despair, and Love that lives alway;
But when I listened for an echoing heart,
I saw all other lips with laughter curl,
And heard them whisper jestingly apart,
"He's got it bad, poor fool; we know the girl!"

CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD.
_Sequoia_.

~His Letter.~

"Dear Father:
Please excuse," he wrote,
"The hurried shortness of this note,
But studies so demand attention
That I have barely time to mention
That I am well, and add that I
Lack funds; please send me some. Good-by.
Your loving son."
He signed his name,
And hastened to the--foot-ball game.

W.R. HEREFORD.
_Harvard Lampoon._

~The Unwilling Muse.~

Oh nothing in all life worse is,
For abating superfluous pride,
Than having to scribble on verses
With the editor waiting outside;
I am hearing a lecture on Shelley,
Where I ought to be able to dream,
But my brain is as vapid as jelly.
And I cannot alight on a theme.

The bell rings. My friend, the Professor,
Is beginning to read out the roll.
How time drags! Am I present? Oh, yes, sir,
But, oh, what a blank is my soul.
I fear that my cunning has left me,
Inspiration refuses to guide,
The rouse of her aid has bereft me,
And the editor's waiting outside.

GUY WETMORE CARRYL.
_Columbia Spectator._

~A Written Lesson.~

I was happy that day,
For I knew what to say,
And I knew how to tell it;
But I found with dismay,
As is always the way,
When I know what to say,
And know how to tell it,
That I know what to say
But I never can spell it.

S.W. CHAMBERLAIN.
_Vassar Miscellany._

[Illustration: "THE IDEAL CO-ED"]

~The Deal Closed.~

The ideal co-ed is a thing of books,
A creature of brain entirely;
With stooping shoulders and studious looks,
She digs all day and half the night;
People say she is wondrous bright,
But her figure's an awful sight!
Her thoughts are deep in the classic past,
She only thinks of A. B. at last;
She has fled this world and its masculine charms,
And a refuge found in Minerva's arms.

Now, the kind of co-ed that I describe
Is a co-ed seen very rarely;
The real co-ed's a thing of grace,
With dainty figure and winsome face;
She walks and rides, and she cuts, mon Dieu!
But every professor lets her through;
For her each year is a round of joy,
A. B. m