"
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.
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