He descended his throne of red-hot rocks,
And hired a barber to cut his locks:
The barber died of the got-'em-again,
Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!
And now let every good Mussulman
Get all the good from this tale he can.
If you wander off on a Jamboree,
Across the stretch of the desert sea,
Look out that right at the height of your booze
You don't get caught by the Jou-jou-jous!
You may, for the Jim-jam's at it again.
Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!
ALARIC BERTRAND START.
_Tuftonian_.
~Love up to Date.~
I know she loves me, though with scorn
She treats my adoration;
I know she loves me, though my suit
She checks with strong negation.
And this I know, with proof as sure
As though her lips had said it:
Her heart I have before my eyes,
And there I've plainly read it.
For cathode rays have stolen through
This maiden so deceiving;
And thus her heart I've photographed,
And seeing is believing.
S. L. HOWARD.
_The Tech._
~Miss Milly O'Naire.~
She is not young and fair,
Nor has she golden hair,
Nor a dimple in each cheek,
If that is what you seek;
Hers is a gift more rare,
Miss Milly O'Naire.
She has not laughing eyes,
Blue as the summer skies,
Nor lips of cherry red,
On kisses to be fed;
No, it's not for these I care,
Miss Milly O'Naire.
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