L. T. B. of Ga., wished to put filium Confucii in a hogshead of water as a grand finale! Will C. of Ohio please rise and explain the derivation and meaning of Snacks? We suppose he has been south of “La Belle Rivière" long enough by this time to be educated in the elegancies of the Southern vernacular. When the enterprising Freshman isn't "freshening" he is cramming up the catalogue for the purpose of standing the exam. for matriculation. Will D of Louisiana please explain how it is that abuse is non-use long continued? Are there any more oysters in town? If not, why not? Ask of the three young men who the other evening spread devastation through the town. We are at a loss to account for the presence of the handsome A. B. from Ky. B. came back, we think, to collect the "skads" for a scholarship, but we won't vouch for it. Query. Why do the young ladies frequent D. P.? We know one Y. L. who thinks she can account for it. THE FLUNK'S GOOD NIGHT. O why (hic) was I (hic) made To tread (hic) this mun-(hic)-dane sphere, See, those chairs (hic) spinnin' round the room, Ole Fran-(hic)-cis Bacon was an ass, Like all the (hic) schoolmen of the schools; 1 can (nic) promise and conclusionize.. Now you and I and all of us are down- D-n you and d-n the boot I don't wish (hic) power and fame. Give me (hic) whiskey (hic) straight (hic) and "goot." Oh! (hic)—all fools—yes (hic) all of 'em, Peter (hic)-Noah (hic) and Bee-(hic)-thoven! Toddy (hic) hey Dick!-if a body Drink (hic)—Ole Fel—a little toddy, Made o' good (hic) ole rye— I say (hic) Dick-if a body Taste (hic) a l-i-t-t-l-e bit o' toddy We defend not the metre of the above, neither do we vouch for the sense in every instance. It is evident that for him the world was out of tune. Let us wish him pleasant dreams and a quick translation to the paradise of flunks, where they study not, neither do they read philosophy. B. of La., strolling through the Museum the other day, The above gentleman is a member of the Zoology class. 66 M. of Ky. says copper is an alloy of zinc and tin. "Hig" looks lonesome since his old pard has retired to Sing Sing. B. of La., after having a "shine 'em up," desiring to sell a railroad coupon, asks the boot-black to show him a scalper office. The b. b. leads him to a barber's shop. "Filii Confucii.”—Give us the grip phi delta tau. L. of La. wants to know if Miss Institute. is an alumni of "Little T.," who is taking a special course in zoology, finds the femur of the Camel on the fore leg. "Old Jim" is the awe of the "Hoi Barbaroi" in his burnsides. "Fatty" says he won't need this law in La. nohow. B. of Ga. and "Dix" took the J. B. degree the other day. Hurrah for "Crig!" P. of W. Va. still stands without a rival, the handsomest man in the University. Economy. "Hig" buys two railroad tickets because they are cheap. The IN IMITATION OF OSSIAN.-O Wash and Lee of halls! I come to thy dread abode. Fair art thou on the hills, thy pillars stately. Tall are they as they look upon the rising sun. beams of morn kiss them in their strength. The noonday misses them not. About their classic circumference the shades of evening fall. The dews of night touch them not, but the rains of heaven lick off their whitewash! But when the joyous voices of the sons of books and the firm tones of the fathers spears. Then do they rejoice. But three months each year they mourn for the sons of books. They smile not upon the strangers that come among them, but their love is for their own! Glad are they when the sons of books return and the bricks send up the sound of many feet. O Wash and Lee of halls! three dost thou stand in one. On the north and south square are thy pillars, in the middle round. On one side Purgatory holds the king of lore. His arms hang upon the walls. Keen are his weapons, which he has won from the corners of the earth. Afar have I heard them clash together. Fearful is the clang of their steel. His habitation groans under their weight. A long crack is in its sides. The rats and mice once played in it. But the wind no longer whistles through the chink. It is filled with mortar. Below the father of Alchemy dwells. They come to him rejoicing, but sorrowful they go away. The potion which he mixes is deadly. Sprung from heroes of spears, beware! Through the windows of his dark abode I heard the winds whistle upon the wires. I saw his instruments of death. He stood beside them. Dark was he and tall like the blasted pine. He moved. He was like a giant striding over the heath. Here also dwells Fingal of spears, Fingal the mightiest among heroes. He strikes his shield. His warriors crowd around. Dreadful is his wrath. His foes tremble. His words are few. His glance is a flame of fire. But when he weeps for his fallen warriors, his eye is a buttercup filled with dew, his face, the sun shining through a fog. O Wash and Lee of halls! Purgatory is on the south, but on the north is Paradise. Happy are they that gain a footing there. Pleasant it is to dwell among the clouds. Pleasant it is to sip nectar in Paradise! Before its sparkling draught, cares and troubles flee like the mists of the hills before the rising sun. On the morrow repentance comes and headaches. But the dwellers there are often disturbed by sounds from below, for there dwells one of Fingal's heroes of shields. He teaches the young warriors to hold a shield before wounded friends. The arguments which he weaves are tough as rhinocerous hide. Like the mists of ocean his enemies gather around. His voice is heard in their midst like the rushing of many winds. They flee and are no longer there. Dark and damp is the ground floor. Here witches inhabit. The sounds of their revels are heard. Soncie are they at times, but again terrible. One of Fingal's youths saw a black mist gather at the corner. Fierce as ten furies it stood and shook its dusky spear. The young warrior advanced with the clang of steel. Darkness closed around him. The bard strikes the harp in his praise. A green mound marks the place where he was last seen. This told me Malvina, daughter of Toscar of spears. Once when the dews of night were falling, I saw within. Dismal and foul was the abode of witches of spells. On the oaken shelves and on the floor strange flowers did fatten on the unwholesome air. Paintings there were uncouth of the deeds of witches of spells. I shudder when I think of what I saw there. Trembling I fled away. O Wash and Lee of halls! thou lackest not physic, and thou hast a museum in the old Cat's Tail. But lately didst thou call to thee a doctor of Physic(s). The hero is young, but already the bard has sung his praise. He no longer follows in the chase. His bow is unstrung. He has taken down the shield of his fathers. His sword hangs by his side like a beam of light. His weapons are many. The hero of arms loves the bright-eyed, Oina-Marul. At times his mind wanders. His hall is built like a hemiamphitheater, and from the topmost benches the flunks lock down on the struggles of imaginary enemies. He loves the shade and valiant is he in the warfare of shadows. O Wash and Lee of halls! Cat's-Tail which once did rejoice thee is still thy pride. Instead of the sounds of harps, silence dwells now in the hall of shells. Do they weep for heroes slain in the battle of spears? They are no longer there; but instead--grinning cards of pre-adamite monsters, stuffed vertebrae! To what base uses has it come |