Lethe, I'd drink of it, Die without fuss, Picture it, think of it-- Manager "Gus." HARRIETT JAY. _Old Drury Lane, Christmas Annual_, 1883. * * * * * BOOTS OF SIZE. Take them up tenderly, Lift them with care, Fashioned so slenderly "Twelves" never were. Touch them not scornfully, Think of her mournfully Who has to bear them. Think of the pains of her-- All that remains of her Save what will wear them. How were her father's feet? How were her mother's? How were her sister's feet? How were her brother's? What had the maiden done That she should merit it? Was it a judgment? Or did she inherit it? Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! Oh, it is pitiful, From a whole city full Praise she has none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings are changed; Love goes with "pettitoes," "Tootsie" and "pootsie" nose Ever from feet like those Turning estranged. Never the ballroom (Save she had all room) Could she be daring; And if at croquet seen, "Gracious! that huge _bottine_," People would cry or mean, Dreadfully staring! The bleak winds of March Made her tremble and shiver; Clothes raised in arch Her huge "trotters" dis-_kiver_. Oh, then, from scrutiny, Comment or rootin' eye, Swift to be hurl'd, Anywhere, anywhere, Out of the world. Take them up tenderly, Lift them with care, Fashioned more slenderly Buckets ne'er were. _Scraps_, 1884 * * * * * THE SONG OF THE LINES. With Gradus dirty and worn, With heavy and weary eyes, A Freshman sat who had written an ode For the last Vice-Chancellor's prize. Wait, wait, wait, 'Mid Grinders, Lectures, and fines, And thus on a lyre of dolorous chord He sang the Song of the Lines. Wait, wait, wait, When the bell is ringing aloof, And wait, wait, wait, When we leave our Grinder's roof, And it's oh to be a Jib In the Godless College of Cork, Where never Vice-Chancellor gives a prize, If this be Christian's work. Oh, Fellows with pupils dear, Oh, Fellows with nephews and sons, It is not paper you're tearing up, But Senior Freshman's Duns, For the Duns are growing rude, Because of the Bills I owe, Madden and Roe, Kinsley and Jude, Jude and Kinsley and Roe. Wait, wait, wait, Till term after term fulfils, And wait, wait, wait, As minors wait for wills, Week after week in vain We've looked at the College gate, For how many days? I would hardly fear To speak of ninety-eight.