For hours he sat, without a pause, And snored o'er Plato's sage debate Of the Republic and the Laws: Both these his brain did obfuscate But most of all he loathed the power Of _x_ + _y_, whose depths profound Long-winded dons would oft expound, And moralise on by the hour. Then said he, "I am very weary, This Euclid racks my brain. Mansell and Mill are very dreary; I shall be ploughed again!" H. C. I., QUEEN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD _College Rhymes_ (T. and G. Shrimpton), Oxford, 1868. * * * * * A FRAGMENT. They lifted him with kindly care; They took him by the heels and head; Across the floor, and up the stair, They bore him safely to his bed. They wrapped the blankets warm and tight, And round about his nose and chin They drew the sheets, and tucked them in, And whispered: "Poor old boy, good-night!" He murmured, "Boys, oh, deary, deary, That punch _was_ strong," he said; He said: "I am aweary, weary-- Thank heaven, I've got to bed! _Australian Paper._ * * * * * AUGUST THE TWELFTH. OVER-NIGHT. I. You must wake, and call me early--call me early--Willie Weir, To-morrow is the glorious Twelfth, that comes but once a year; The cockneys and the keepers will all be out of doors, And I'm to shoot over the moors, Willie--I'm to shoot over the moors. II. There's many a pack of pointers, but none that point likemine; There's Paragon and Pincher--there's Kit and Keelavine, And my little Dandie Dinmont, that stands firm as any house, So I'm to bag all the grouse, Willie--I'm to bag all the grouse. III. I sleep so soundly all the night that I shall never wake, Unless you call me loudly when the dawn begins to break, For I've to put on my philabeg and sporran's foxy tail, To _look_ like a genuine Gael, Willie, to _look_ like a genuine Gael. IV. As I came up the valley, whom think you I should see? Ben Moses of the Minories, he has rented Bonachree! He wished to rent _my_ moor, Willie, but boggled at the price, So I went in by telegram, and nailed it in a trice. V. Shelty Pony shall go to-morrow, to carry two fowls at least, For a cockney on the hillside is a _very_ ravenous beast; And you shall bring the saddlebags to hold the birds I spot, For I'll get my worth of the moors, Willie, at least in the powder and shot. VI. So you must wake me early--call me early, Willie Weir, To-morrow is the glorious Twelfth, that comes but once a year. From Cheapside unto Chelsea, they're envying me at home, For I'm to shoot over the moors, Willie, as far as I can roam. ON THE TWELFTH. I.