When the men come up again Filcher, and the Term is at its height, You'll never see me more in these long gay rooms at night; When the old dry wines are circling and the claret-cup flows cool, And the loo is fast and furious with a fiver in the pool. You'll pack my things up, Filcher, with Mrs. Tester's aid, You may keep the wine I leave behind, the tea, and marmalade. I shall not forget you, Filcher, I shall tip you when I pass, And I'll give you something handsome if I get a second-class. Good-night, good-night, when I have passed my tripos with success, And you see me driving off to catch the one o'clock "express;" Don't let Mrs. Tester hang about beside the porter's lodge, I ain't a fool, you know, and I can penetrate that dodge. She'll find my books and papers lying all about the floor, Let her take 'em, they are hers, I shall never use 'em more; But tell her, to console her, if she's mourning for my loss. That she's quite the dirtiest bedmaker, I ever came across. Good-night: you need not call me till the bell for service rings, Through practice I am pretty quick at putting on my things; But I would keep a Chapel upon my last New Year, So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, Filcher dear. CONCLUSION. I thought to pass some time ago, but hang it, here I am, Having "muckered" in a certain Mathematical Exam. I have been "excused the General," and my reverent Tutor thinks I must take up Natural Science, which is commonly called "Stinks." O sweet is academic life within these ancient walls, And sweet are Cambridge pleasures--boating, billiards, breakfasts, balls; But sweeter far about this time than all these things to me Would be the acquisition of my Bachelor's Degree. * * * * * THE PREMIER'S LAMENT. I'll be in the House quite early, you come later, Herbie dear, This night will be the hardest in the Cabinet's career; Of all our mad career, Herbie, the hardest, horridest night, For the Vote of Censure's on us, and the Opposition fight. * * * * * O, sweet's the docile Liberal who never wants to rise. And sweeter still the Radical who shuns the Speaker's eyes, And sweet are dumb majorities, and men who silent stay, For the hardest things to listen to are what our friends all say. * * * * * There's Parnell's lot, my Herbie, that wretched Irish crew; Don't go and say I said so, this is confidence for you: I've done my best to catch them, and gain their solid vote; But Trevelyan's such a blunderer, he's always at their throat. * * * * *