Chapter 5

"Were I a man," quoth Mistress Jane, "Ah, would I were!--I'd drink champagne And smoke--be dashing in my dress-- And let my roving eyes express A love I never entertain.

"With rose lips near, I'd not refrain From kissing. I would e'er maintain That woman's 'No' is often 'Yes,' Were I a man.

"Yet while I muse, it seems quite plain That as I am I can't complain, For Tom and Jack--they both confess-- Adore me. So I rather guess I'd wish I were a girl again, Were I a man!"

W.C. NICHOLS. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~"Three's a Crowd."~

Crisp and hard lay the snow beneath, The frosty air made young blood tingle. As we glided over the polished road To the sleigh-bells' merriest jingle.

We were warmly wrapped to our chins in rugs, Fur-proof against winter's biting weather, There was room in the sleigh for only two, But--three of us sleighed together.

The moon from the clear, cold sky above Flooded the snow with a golden glory, And I whispered--for how could I refrain?-- The old, old, world-famous story.

Must have seemed quite a crowd, you say, With three in the sleigh? Well you _are_ stupid! Three's a pleastanter company far, than two, When the person who crowds you is Cupid!

_Vassar Miscellany._

~On Bills.~

At the first of the month I grow morbid and sad; As I gaze on that pile I believe In the saying that never was potent before-- "'Tis more blessed to give than receive."

_Lehigh Burr_.

~A Senior's Plea.~

"Dear Father: Once you said, 'My son, To manhood you have grown; Make others trust you, trust yourself, And learn to stand alone!'

"Now, father, soon I graduate, And those who long have shown How well they trust me, want their pay, And I can stand a loan."

JOHN CURTIS UNDERWOOD. _Trinity Tablet_.

~After the Game.~

They played at cards on the yellow sand. When the fields and the trees were green, She thought that the trump was in her hand, He thought that he held the queen. But winter has come, and they both have strayed Away from the throbbing wave-- He finds 'twas only the deuce she played, She finds that he played the knave.

_Columbia Spectator_.

~Old Days.~

Sing a song of old days, Old days and true, True days and bold days, Deeds to dare and do.

Quarter-staff and buckles Trip, turn and tread-- Tapped upon the knuckles, Rapped upon the head.

Pouch and pocket-fillings, Knavery and worse-- Oh, the crowns and shillings In the miser's purse!

Tumbled into limbo, Picking thro' the locks, Fast with arms akimbo, Stewing in the stocks.

Pretty maids a-laughing-- Here's to rosy lips, Port and sherry quaffing While the pottle drips.

Quaffing port and sherry, Jolly roaring blades, Making gay and merry With the giddy maids.

Red blood and revel, Murder, love, and fraud,-- Dancing to the devil, Laughing to the Lord.

Bright gold and yellow, Meek maids and bold, Old wine and mellow-- Wine and maids and gold.

Light life and long life, Brisk life and brave; Strong life and wrong life, Great to the grave.

Sing a song of old days, Sing them back again; Kill the canny, cold days, Let us live like men.

_Harvard Advocate_.

~A Reward of Merit.~

The father asked: "How have you done In mastering ancient lore?" "I did so well," replied the son, "They gave me an encore; The Faculty like me and hold me so dear, They make me repeat my Freshman year."

_Trinity Tablet_.

~A Fin de Siecle Girl.~

She studies Henrik Ibsen "to cultivate her mind," And reads Shakespeare and Browning through and through; Meanwhile she knits her brows--it is the only kind Of fancy work this modern maid can do.

_Concordiensis_.

~Her Reason.~

Once a learned Boston maiden Was besought for one sweet kiss; "Only one," he softly pleaded, But the maid's reply was this:

"I am quite surprised you ask it, When you know physicians say That for spreading dire contagion Kissing is the surest way.

"Though I own that what you ask me Would be pure, unbounded bliss, Yet, from hygienic reasons, I cannot allow a kiss."

JAMES P. SAWYER. _Yale Record_.

~The Cruel Maid.~

One summer night, in twilight dim, A fellow wooed a maiden prim. Around her waist, with, some alarm, The naughty man had put his arm.

Her dimpled hand he stroked awhile, Then murmured low, with loving smile, "Could e'er so soft a thing be found, If all the world were searched around?"

With laughing eyes and flaming cheeks, The maid replied, "'Tis just two weeks Since I found out that you, my pet, Have something that is softer yet!"

"That I? I have? Oh, can it be? You darling, now I _do_ love thee!" Oh, Vanitas! No sooner said, She put her hand upon his head.

A. BRADLEY. _Columbia Spectator_.

~A Football Tragedy.~

She clung to him, the game was o'er. Content was in her soul; "Dear heart, I'm very happy now That you have come back whole."

With gentle hand he smoothed her curls, And tried to keep a laugh back; "My dear, your joy is premature, For I am only _half-back_."

_University of Chicago Weekly_.

~It Was.~

He seized her in the dark and kissed her, And for a moment bliss was his; "Oh, my! I thought it was my sister!" He cried. She laughed and said, "It is."

_Yale Record_.

~A Summer Campaign.~

I've travelled from the coast of Maine To Jersey's balmy shore. Nor have my efforts been in vain, For maids I've won galore.

In mountain climbs I spent my breath, On lakes and rivers, too; I flirted here with coy Beth, And there with lovely Sue.

No tournament, no sail, nor hop, Without me was complete; Nor from love-making did I stop, Till all were at my feet.

The summer's gone upon the run, Maids utter sighs in billows; I've broken sixteen hearts and won Just sixteen sofa pillows.

J. H. SCRANTON. _Yale Record_.

~From June to June.~

Two lovers 'mong the weedy brake Were rowing--happy pair! They drifted far upon the lake To get the sun and air.

A year has fled. Again they float; But one is now the pair, And three are riding in the boat-- They bring their _son_ and _heir_.

NORMAN STAUNTON DIKE. _Brunonian_.

~At the North Avenue Fire.~

The boy stood in the burning block, Whence all but him had fled; He smashed the china on a rock, But saved the feather bed.

A.M. WHITE, JR. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~I Love my Love.~

Every one thinks some face fairer Than all others in the land, Thinks this one alone is perfect, Vows to her his heart and hand.

Then he sings in loudest praises Of her wealth of golden hair, Of her lips like ripest cherries, She alone divinely fair.

But there's one that's quite forgotten, One whose charms they fail to see; Yet in my abject devotion Fairest of the fair is she.

There's not one half so entrancing Or so makes my poor heart thrill-- It is Martha Washington's picture On a bright one dollar bill.

J. P. SAWYER. _Yale Record_.

~The Diva.~

Gone are her bird-notes, thin she sings, and flat, Enough to craze Concone or Scarlatti. Where once she made our hearts go pit-a-pat, To-day, alas, they only pity Patti.

S.F. BATCHELDER. _Harvard Lampoon_.

Mathematical.

In Vassar's halls a tutor young, 'Tis said, once met his fate; He taught her in the Calculus To differentiate.

They're married now--at meal-times oft Discord invades their state; For he has found that she with him Would differ when she ate.

_Lehigh Burr_.

~She Still Wins.~

He had worn a colored blazer on the Nile; He had sported spats in Persia just for style; With a necktie quite too utter, In the streets of old Calcutta, He had stirred up quite a flutter for a while.

The maids of Java flocked before his door, Attracted by the trousers that he wore; While his vest, a bosom-venter, Shook Formosa to the centre, And they hailed him as a mentor by the score.

On his own ground as a masher, on the street He outdid a Turkish Pasha, who stood treat; He gave Shanghai girls the jumps, And their cheeks stuck out like mumps At the patent-leather pumps upon his feet.

But he called upon a Boston girl one night, With a necktie ready-made, which wasn't right; And she looked at him, this maid did, And he faded, and he faded, And he faded, and he faded out of sight.

_The Tech_.

~Her Present.~

He had hinted at diamonds, a fan by Watteau, A fine water spaniel,--so great was his zeal,-- A chatelaine watch, or a full set of Poe, And then at the end sent a padded _Lucile_.

F. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~On the Weather.~

The sultry stillness of a summer's day Oppresses every sense. The droning bees Alone the silence break, and restless play The shadows of the gently swaying trees.

The very ripples in the stream are still, Save now and then a low and gentle swash, All which doth try me sore against my will-- So hot! And all my ducks are in the wash.

FERRIS GREENSLET. _Wesleyan Literary Monthly_.

~Tom's Philosophy.~

The bridges mingle with the river, And the river with the ocean; The lights of Boston mix forever With a jagged motion; Not a lamp-post near looks single; All things, when in town I dine, With weird, uncanny phantoms mingle, Why not I with wine?

See the house-tops fall from heaven! And that chimney hit the other-- A college man would be forgiven If home he'd help a brother. Is it the sun that shines on earth, Or moonbeams that I see? What are all my struggles worth, Since I've lost my key?

_Harvard Lampoon_.

~Fashion's Folly.~

I knew a maiden fair and sweet, Whom I had loved for years. At last one day I told her this, Although with many fears.

At first she did not say a word, Then in a pleasant way She looked out to the west, and said: "It _is_ a pleasant day."

She had not heard a single word, She's told me since with tears; She wore her hair, as some girls will, Down over both her ears.

S.W. CHAMBERLAIN. _Vassar Miscellany_.

~Christmas in Chicago.~

The girl from Chicago arose sharp at eight, As her maid on the door was knocking; She found a piano, a desk, and a slate Concealed in the toe of her stocking.

A. M. WHITE, JR. _Harvard Advocate_.

~A Discovery in Biology.~

I think I know what Cupid is: _Bacteria Amoris;_ And when he's fairly at his work, He causes _dolor cordis_. So, if you'd like, for this disease, A remedy specific, Prepare an antitoxine, please, By methods scientific. Inoculate another heart With germs of this affection, Apply this culture to your own, 'Twill heal you to perfection.

MARY E. LEVERETT. _Vassar Miscellany_.

~Logic.~

Say, does Fact or Reason err, And, if they both err, which the more? The man of smallest calibre Is sure to be the greatest bore.

_Harvard Lampoon_.

~A Flirtation on the Cars.~

I did not even know her name, Nor where she lived, nor whence she came-- 'Twas sad, and yet Was I so very much to blame, That all my heart should start to flame, And flare and fret?

She was so sweet, so passing fair, With such a smile, with such an air-- What could I do? A glance as shy, as debonair, An eye as bright, a smile as rare, I never knew!

And so I smiled across the aisle, And met the winsome, merry smile She sent so bold; At last she laughed, then after while She cooed aloud in friendly style, "_I'm_ free years old!"

_University of Chicago Weekly_.

~Has It Come to This?~

A youth, with shining locks of gold, And eyes than summer skies more blue, With plaintive voice and modest mien, Went forth to greet his sweetheart true.

And sang, in accents sweet and low, Beneath, her window (so says rumor), "Than others art thou fairer far, Du bist wie eine _bloomer_."

MARIE REIMER. _Vassar Miscellany_.

~And the Hammock Swung On.~

"A is the maid of winning charm; B is the snug, encircling 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, happy he who wins,-- But I, I'm in an awkward place, My love, you see, is twins.

G.P. DAY. _Yale Record_.

~The Outward Shows.~

She was the _première danseuse_ of the ballet, And she tripped the light fantastic like a fay; She was so sweet and cunning, And withal so very stunning, That I was bound to meet her right away.

I went behind the scenes after the play, And imagine my surprise as well you may: This maid so sweet and cunning, And withal so very stunning, I'll swear that she was forty if a day.

_Harvard Lampoon_.

~"As Ye Sow."~

"What awful debts are these, my son? Not one cent more, forsooth! I never was a rake like you In the hey-day of my youth."

"Quite right you are," the sport replied; "And yet you twist the truth, For once you used to rake the fields In the hay-day of your youth."

J. J. MACK, JR. _Harvard Lampoon._

~On Afric's Golden Sands.~

A wild and warlike Zulu chief Was he; His costume was as brief as brief Could be. He vowed that he would woo and win A maid, But she skipped out and left him in The shade. At first she liked him; this was how She ceased-- He simply _wouldn't_ wear his trou- Sers creased.

_University Herald._

~Two Simple Little Ostriches.~

Now we can talk. Thank goodness, that old bore Who took me out is talking business o'er With some one else. The roses were so sweet, You reckless fellow. It's such fun to meet Like ordinary friends, while no one knows Our precious secret. Do you like my clothes? They're new. You dear! I'm really looking well? Why don't you like the sleeves? They're very swell. "They're more offensive than my buzz-saw hat?" What do you mean? O Jack! How simply flat! They sha'n't keep you away, dear. Now take care! No, keep your hands at home. _You've seen the Fair, Of course?_ They're listening, Jack. Do try to talk. _I'm glad they didn't have it in New York, Aren't you? Two weeks of it was quite enough. The Ferris Wheel._ You wretch! 'Twas rather rough To make me do it at all, while you sat back And howled at me. When we are married, Jack,-- O dearest, please be careful! They will guess, If you don't look less interested. Yes, yes, You know I do. Oh, dearly. By and by I'll give you three. Well, four. _Will Congress try To introduce new silver laws?_ Don't laugh! _I wish they could do something in behalf Of all the hungry people out of work_. You make me do it all, you wretched shirk. Now I must leave you, dearest. Au revoir! Don't stay forever over your cigar.

(THEIR VIS-A-VIS.)

It's not announced, but then we know it's on. It's simply low--another good man gone!

JULIET W. TOMPKINS. _Vassar Miscellany._

~Continuity and Differentiation.~

Whenever in America A girl is asked to wed, She straightway says, "Go ask papa," And coyly droops her head.

And over in the Fatherland, Where flows the terraced Rhine, She whispers, while he clasps her hand, "Ich liebe dich allein."

But up in Russia, where the snow Sweeps hissing thro' the firs, She simply murmurs soft and low, "Bhjushkst zwmstk rstk pbjunsk pjbrs."

_University Herald_.

~Deception.~

Among her curls with wanton glee The breezes play caressingly, Catch up stray locks with cunning grace, And as she turns aside her face, Blow them about provokingly.

Then with a smile that's fair to see She tries, and most coquettishly, To stop the breeze's merry race Among her curls.

But all in vain, for now one wee Small lock escapes, and is still free. And as I peer beneath the lace I see, stowed snugly in its place, A tiny switch put secretly Among her curls.

_Yale Record._

~George Birthington's Washday.~

There was a famous washing day, its action near the Hub; A nation's raiment in the suds, a hero at the tub. Then come, ye loyal patriots, and listen to my lay! I'll sing of good George Birthington on this, his washing day.

"The time is come," said Birthington, "when wash we really must, For, see our country's garments, how they're trampled in the dust; And Liberty's bright tunic is so sadly soiled, I ween, That nothing but a washing day will make it bright and clean."

The morning dawned, the washers came, the washing was begun; The steam rose high, nor ceased to rise till cleanliness was won. And now, though good George Birthington is gone to his repose, The grateful country still recalls how well he washed her clothes.

FLORENCE E. HOMES. _Wellesly Lyrics._

~The Freshman's Vacation.~

He had fished in the Aroostook, And he'd trolled in the Walloostook, And he'd angled in the Mattawamkeag, He had hunted Lake Umbagog, And spent weeks on Memphremagog, For he'd sworn to bring the fish home by the bag.

All too soon the summer ended, And his homeward way he wended, And he left his tent within the shady vale; But before he reached New Lyddom, He took all his fish and hid 'em In an envelope and sent them home by mail.

_University Herald_.

~A Rondel.~

"I'd draw the knot as tight as man can draw, And firm I'd make it fast by every law; Dearest, you need not speak your fond consent, Your paleness and your blush so finely blent," He gently said; "tell me my happy lot: I'd draw the knot."

But ere he could the eager phrase repeat,-- The phrase his manly fancy found so sweet,-- The modest maiden toward him turned her face: Her eyes met his a moment's rapturous space,-- She spoke, her firm glance faltering scarce a jot, "I'd rather not."

J.J. MACK, JR. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~The Ladye of the Lab.~

He fareth in a joyous wise Where runs the road 'neath gentle skies-- How should his canine heart surmise That where the red-roofed towers rise The blood is red upon the slab? His way is warm with sunlight yet, He knoweth not the sun must set; And he hath in the roadway met The Ladye of the Lab.

How should he read her face aright? Upon her brow the hair is bright, Within her eyes a tender light, Her luring hands are lily-white, Tho' blood be red upon the slab; Her calling voice is siren-sweet,-- He crouches fawning at her feet,-- It is a fatal thing to meet The Ladye of the Lab!

And she hath ta'en him with a string To where the linnets never sing, Where stiff and still is everything, And there a heart lies quivering When blood is red upon the slab; O little dog that wandered free! And hath she done this thing to thee? How may she work her will with me,-- The Ladye of the Lab!

CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. _Four-Leaved Clover_.

~Our Wrongs.~

When girls are only babies, Their mammas quite insist That they by us-- Against our wills-- Be kissed--kissed--kissed.

But when those girls Are sweet eighteen, Their mammas say we sha'n't, And though we'd like to kiss them, We can't--can't--can't.

C.F.H. _Williams Weekly_.

~A Snare and a Delusion.~

Between the trees a hammock swings On the lawn, at twilight's glow; Oh, what bliss sweet memory brings Of the days of long ago!

A dainty gown of spotless white, Moulded to a faultless form, Fashioned like a fairy sprite, Riding on love's tidal storm.

In the gloaming, dim discerning, We can faintly see the book; Softly stealing, with lore's yearning,-- Gracious heaven! it's the cook!

_Yale Record_.

~At the Junior Promenade.~

The stars were out and the moon was bright At the Junior Promenade, But all the glories of starlit night Were bated before the splendid sight Of that merry throng--and my lady in white, At the Junior Promenade.

Oh, she was tall and wondrous fair At the Junior Promenade, Her eyes were stars, and black was her hair, Her cheeks shone red in the bright light's glare: I worshiped her quite as I danced with her there, At the Junior Promenade.

She waltzed with the grace of a goddess divine At the Junior Promenade. I held her close, her hand in mine, My cheek touched the strands of her hair so fine. A perfume arose from her lips of wine, At the junior Promenade.

Such seeds of love in my heart were sown At the Junior Promenade, Till soon came the end--I was left alone, And then found out--what I cannot disown-- That I had made love to the chaperone At the Junior Promenade.

CAREY CULBERTSON. _Syllabus_.

~El Dorado.~

'Twas a youthful would-be poet, Gazing with enraptured air Through the starlight, when a comrade Found him standing silent there.

"Don't disturb me," was his answer, When addressed, "Oh, let me be! I am filled with heavenly raptures, For I see infinity!

"Let me gaze until I'm sated, For at last I've found a place, Where there's absolutely nothing Crowded out for want of space!"

GRANT SHOWERMAN. _Wisconsin Aegis_.

~The Conversion.~

She told him surely 'twas not right To smoke a pipe from morn to night "Indeed," cried he, "what would you, dear? 'Tis but to aid my thoughts of you." "Why, then," she whispered, nestling near, "Why, then, I love your old pipe, too."

R. W. BERGENGREN. _Harvard Advocate_.

~Were It Only Now.~

I'm sitting musing in my room, The snow is on the ground; The moon has hid her face to-night, And darkness is profound. 'Twas somewhat such a night as this, A little darker, though, I asked Bess to go sleighing, and She said that she would go.

But just as we were starting out, Said she, "For just us two" (A smile played round her mouth) "I think It much too dark, don't you?" I did not know their wiles as yet, I was so young and slow; But thought she really meant it, and I stammered, "I--think--so."

She cast at me a pitying glance, Then in the house we went; The balance of that evening was In conversation spent.

* * * * *

Since then she's always been polite, And cordial, too, you know; But from that time I realize I've never had a show.

A. W. BELL. _Yale Record_.

~Her Thanks.~

She thanked them all for everything, From Christmas card to diamond ring; And as her gifts she gaily flaunted, She told her friends, "Just what I wanted."