"Work! work! work! Till the brain begins to swim, And work! work! work! Till my eyes are heavy and dim; Greek and German and French, French and German and Greek, Till over the problems I have a nap, And work them out in my sleep. "Throb! throb! throb! My courage is ebbing fast! Work! work! work! I fear that my brain won't last! Throb! throb! throb! O come and help me cram! I'm going to be a lunatic, If plucked in this Exam! "O men with cousins dear! O men with mothers and wives! I'd cram you, if I had you here, Within an inch of your lives! But Examiners' hearts are hard, And their wisdom is but a sham; And little they care what we have to bear, Or how hard we need to cram! "Oh! but to play a game With my happy friends below! Oh! but to make a pun, Or try--but 'tis all 'no go'-- So they for me may wish, But I must stay and cram; Oh, bother it! I'm just 'done up' With this horrible Exam!" With fingers trembling and warm, With eyelids heavy and red, A schoolboy sat in true schoolboy style, His hand supporting his head. Throb! throb! throb! And cram! cram! cram! And still with a look of dolor and pain, He studied and crammed with might and main, To pass the dreaded Exam! A. P. _The Dunheved Mirror_, Cornwall, December, 1876. * * * * * THE SLAVE OF THE PEN. I. With fingers inky and cold, With eyelids heavy and red, A scribbler sat through the dreary night, Spinning "Copy," at morn to be read. Scratch! scratch! scratch! In a gas-lighted steamy den, And still, in a voice of dolorous pitch, He sang the song of the pen. II. "Scratch! scratch! scratch! While engines are shaking the roof; Scratch! scratch! scratch! Till the "Devil" appears with a proof. And it's oh! to be a slave Of the pen, whether steel or quill, Is as bad as being a worthless knave Doing his month at the 'mill.' III. "Scratch! scratch! scratch! Is it farce or tragedy grim, Making up the requisite batch, With fact, and fancy, and whim? It fritters away my life, In the flow of this inky stream. And over the copy I fall asleep, And punctuate in a dream." * * * * * Oh! husband with slippered feet; Oh! wife in morning gown: Coming down to breakfast, pleased to read The latest news of the town-- Think of the dismal scratch Of these midnight slaves of the pen. Forgive them a caustic, or feeble phrase, And remember they are but men. _Funny Folks_, January 9th, 1875. * * * * * THE SONG OF THE SWORD.