_Wesleyan Argus._
~Broken Chains.~
He was tired of being shackled;
She was faithless, that was plain;
So his lawyer filed the papers,
And the papers filed his chain.
EUGENE A. COX.
_Vanderbilt Observer._
~Gory Gambols.~
I love my adversary's leg to kick,
To frisk upon his features with my feet,
Or bunt him in the stomach till he's sick--
All this is sweet.
I smile to hear his collar bone collapse,
Accompanied by his expiring screech;
To crack his ribs is happiness, perhaps,
Beyond all reach.
I laugh aloud when, in the scrimmage wild,
I smash the thigh bone of some lusty boy,
And see him borne off, helpless as a child--
That, that is joy.
My sturdy heel into his spine I jam,
To beat his mouth until he pouts at fate,
To punch him sternly in the diaphragm
Is rapture great.
Than to perceive his manly blood run red
No greater joy can unto me be given;
But at one kick to kick him down stone-dead--
That, that is heaven,
_Lehigh Burr_.
~The Man without a Country.~
The "man without a country" was in such a sorry plight,
There wasn't any place on land where he might pass the night,
But if you'd like to see a man as badly off as he,
Who hasn't any place at all to stay on land or sea,
Who has no spot he may enjoy to any great extent,
Just wait until you see some time the man without a cent.
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