Three students sat up past the midnight chimes, And they re-trimmed their lamps, as they oft ran down, And they “mugged” at their Paley, and got up the rhymes, And turned o’er their “Dictions,” so ragged and brown. For men must work and give up their sleep, Their livings to earn and themselves to keep, Though o’er Euclid they be moaning Three proctorised students the Proctor call’d up On the Monday morning. He sent _them_ down; But not for the _others_ did dons wring their hands, Because they would nevermore wear cap and gown. For if men won’t work by night or by day, The sooner they go down the less there’s to pay, When goodbye is said to the college. From _The Lays of the Mocking Sprite_, by E. B. C. Cambridge, W. Metcalfe and Sons. (There is no date to this curious little collection, nor does the Author’s name appear.) ―――― MELONCHOLIC. Three Melons went sailing out in the West―― Nutmeg, water, and musk, Three little boys at evening dusk, While nature brooded in damp suspense, Climbed over a ten rail, eight foot fence And stowed a Melon beneath each vest. Three little colics appeared that night And tackled the cherubs three―― Oh, the groan, the pain, the misery, The cramp, the gripe, and the inward hurt, The fate that doctors couldn’t avert, Three Undertakers at morning’s light. Let Melons go sailing everywhere And women are born to weep, And boys will forage while farmers sleep, And colics will come where melons go, And so will doctors and every woe That points the way to the golden stair. _United States Paper._ ―――― HOUSE CLEANING. Three Carpets hung waiving abroad in the breeze Abroad in the breeze as the sun went down, And three husbands with patches of dust on their knees Whacked whacks that were heard for miles up and down. For men must work and women must clean And the carpet be beaten, no matter how mean, While neighbours do the bossing. Three housewives leaned out of their windows raised Of their windows raised where the light streamed in And they scrubbed and scrubbed till their heads grew dazed, And their ears were filled with a horrible din; For pots will fall and kettles go bang, And boilers refuse in the attic to hang, While husbands do the swearing.