PET'S PUNISHMENT

O, IF my love offended me,
And we had words together,
To show her I would master be,
I'd whip her with a feather!

If then she, like a naughty girl,
Would tyranny declare it,
I'd give my pet a cross of pearl,
And make her always bear it.

If still she tried to sulk and sigh,
And threw away my posies,
I'd catch my darling on the sly,
And smother her with roses.

But should she clench her dimpled fists,
Or contradict her betters,

I'd manacle her tiny wrists
With dainty jewelled fetters.

And if she dared her lips to pout,
Like many pert young misses,

I'd wind my arm her waist about,
And punish her-with kisses!

And your brow is like the snow,

And the various things you know,

Goodness knows.

i

Ad Chloe, M.A.

And the rose-flush on your cheek,
And your Algebra and Greek

Perfect are;

And that loving lustrous eye
Recognizes in the sky
Every star.

You have pouting piquant lips,
You can doubtless an eclipse
Calculate;

But for your cerulean hue,
I had certainly from you
Met my fate.

If by some arrangement dual
I were Adams mixed with Whewell,
Then some day

I, as wooer, perhaps might come
To so sweet an Artium

Magistra.

185

Mortimer Collins.

CHLOE, M.A.

AD AMANTEM SUAM

CARELESS rhymer, it is true,
That my favourite colour's blue:
But am I

To be made a victim, sir,

If to puddings I prefer
Cambridge ?

If with giddier girls I play

Croquet through the summer day

On the turf,

Then at night ('tis no great boon)

Let me study how the moon

Sways the surf.

Tennyson's idyllic verse

Surely suits me none the worse

If I seek

Old Sicilian birds and bees-
Music of sweet Sophocles-
Golden Greek.

You have said my eyes are blue;
There may be a fairer hue,
Perhaps and yet

It is surely not a sin

If I keep my secrets in

Violet.

Mortimer Collins.

THE FAIR MILLINGER

By the Watertown Horse-Car Conductor

It was a millinger most gay,

As sat within her shop;
A student came along that way,
And in he straight did pop.

Clean shaven he, of massive mould,

He thought his looks was killing her; So lots of stuff to him she sold:

"Thanks!" says the millinger.

He loafed around and seemed to try
On all things to converse;

The millinger did mind her eye,
But also mound his purse.

He tried, then, with his flattering tongue,
With nonsense to be filling her;

But she was sharp, though she was young:
"Thanks," said the millinger.

The Fair Millinger

He asked her to the theatre,

They got into my car;

Our steeds were tired, could hardly stir,

He thought the way not far.

A pretty pict-i-ure she made,

No doctors had been pilling her; Fairly the fair one's fare he paid: "Thanks!" said the millinger.

When we arrived in Bowdoin Square,
A female to them ran;

Then says that millinger so fair:
“O, thank you, Mary Ann!
She's going with us, she is," says she,

"She only is fulfilling her

Duty in looking after me:

Thanks!" said that millinger.

Why," says that student chap to her, "I've but two seats to hand." "Too bad," replied that millinger, "Then you will have to stand." "I won't stand this," says he, "I own The joke which you've been drilling her; Here, take the seats and go alone!" "Thanks!" says the millinger.

That ere much-taken-down young man
Stepped back into my car.

We got fresh horses, off they ran;
He thought the distance far.

And now she is my better half,

And oft, when coo-and-billing her, I think about that chap and laugh: "Thanks!" says my millinger.

187

Fred W. Loring.

TWO FISHERS

ONE morning when Spring was in her teens-
A morn to a poet's wishing,

All tinted in delicate pinks and greens-
Miss Bessie and I went fishing.

I in my rough and easy clothes,

With my face at the sun-tan's mercy; She with her hat tipped down to her nose, And her nose tipped-vice versa.

I with my rod, my reel, and my hooks,
And a hamper for lunching recesses;
She with the bait of her comely looks,

And the seine of her golden tresses.

So we sat us down on the sunny dike,
Where the white pond-lilies teeter,
And I went to fishing like quaint old Ike,
And she like Simon Peter.

All the noon I lay in the light of her eyes,
And dreamily watched and waited,

But the fish were cunning and would not rise,
And the baiter alone was baited.

And when the time of departure came,

My bag hung flat as a flounder;

But Bessie had neatly hooked her game-
A hundred-and-fifty-pounder.

Unknown.

MAUD

NAY, I cannot come into the garden just now,
Tho' it vexes me much to refuse:

But I must have the next set of waltzes, I vow,
With Lieutenant de Boots of the Blues.