Be true to your trust and your old Alma Mater; Lean firm on that arm, you'll need nothing better: And to the young gentlemen of the Tenth Section, Flee to the Fourth--in it there's protection. Perhaps that will do, but the Ninth, I am told, Will send the young gentlemen out in the cold. There are three honest men of old cadet fame-- Phil, Math and Chem, I think is their name. [Illustration: FLIRTATION PATH. (Photographed by G. W. Pack.)] These three honest fellows are all very bold, And are sure to kick somebody out of the fold; Then off goes the trimmings, and away goes the grey, And then you are told to get out of the way. Then you'll think of Flirtation and old Gee's rock, And the place where you sat with your Sweet Four O'clock; Then you'll think of the taffy made over the gas, Of the butter and sugar you hived from the mess. Now when to the blackboard for trial you stand, Keep steady, be ready, your chalk in your hand. Don't think of failing; stand well on your ground; Don't let it be said--a man has been found. * * * * * This poem is respectfully dedicated to the Corps of Cadets, by THEIR MATERNAL FRIEND. [Illustration: THE BARRACKS. (Photographed by G. W. Pack.)] GRAND CELEBRATION. _With Pyrotechnic Lights, at the Military Academy, by Santa Claus, 12 o'clock, 1880._ Hark! what's that that bursts on the midnight air? "The Cadets are loose," said a lady fair. "Cadets loose?" echoed her puzzled spouse, As he rose in haste and donned his clothes. From "Siege Gun Battery" came a roar That echoed back from shore to shore, Rumbling along under old Cro' Nest, And sunk in the far-off hills to rest. Just at this juncture came pouring forth From every window in the north Of the Barrack building grim and gray, And chased the moonbeams out of the way, The grandest sight that ever was seen, Or ever will be again, I ween,-- Rockets, Roman Candles and Blue Lights clear, To welcome in the glad New Year. With the booming of cannon and grand "fish-horn" Eighteen hundred and eighty was born; This fine little fellow was ushered in With rocket's roar and fish-horn's din. What means this noise and running around, Looking for something that's not to be found? For every door was relieved of its handle By some friend, of course, surely not by a vandal, To keep intruders who were stalking around From wakening the boys who were sleeping so sound, Dreaming of fish-horns and other such things That Santa Claus always to the children brings. [Illustration: THE COLOR GUARD. (By Cadet Cameron, Class of '83.)] Just at this moment came a loud crash-- A window is broken in with a smash, And a voice calls out, "Bring me an axe!" And on his near neighbor he levied the tax. I'll let him see, thought the neighbor, who'll lift the latch, As he handed him out the innocent match; The reason was this, St. Nick had been busy an hour or more, And that was the reason he'd fastened the door.