Still in the nights of winter When the moon shines clear and bright And o’er the quad rise loud and wild The voices of the night. When the “36” is opened And the gleaming lamp is lit, And all around the embers A jovial party sit; When fresh and senior circle Around the firebrands bright, And the redolent virginian weed Gives mingled cloud and light; When the connoisseur, with practised eye, Rejoicing at the sight, Holds up his glass of ruddy port Athwart the streaming light, With screams and tears of laughter Still is the story told Of how the porter kept the gate In the brave days of old. ―――― THE LAY OF THE LAST COMMEMORATION DINNER. (_By a Disappointed Guest._) The Seniors of Trinity By Newton’s bones they swore, That the proud Undergraduate Should share the feast no more; By Newton’s bones they swore it, And named their Feasting day, And sent no invitations round To hungry Scholars humblier gowned, Or prizemen in the May. * * * * * (_In revenge for this slight the Undergraduates introduce gunpowder below the room in which the Dons hold their banquet; at a given signal, one Tomkins applies a match, and the whole party is blown up._) A hand they found of Tomkins, Some sixteen miles away, And in its cold clenched fingers A box――“Bryant and May”; And to this hour his praises Are oft rehearsed in song, As one who perished at his post, And cheerfully gave up the ghost To wipe away a wrong. He standeth in the cloisters, Beneath a roof of thatch, Tomkins, the fiery freshman, In act to strike a match; And underneath is carven, In letters plain to read, A circumstantial narrative Of his devoted deed. ANONYMOUS. Published by W. P. Spalding, Sidney Street, Cambridge. 1880. ―――― OBSTRUCTION UTILISED. King Mensa of Coomassie By Mumbo Jumbo swore His family umbrella Should be detained no more; By Jumbo did he swear it, And named a trysting day, And bade his messengers run forth, South and west, and east and north, To gather his array. East and west, and south and north, The messengers run fast; And the fetish in each village Has heard the conch-shell’s blast: Shame on the false Ashantee Who will not join the host, When Mensa of Coomassie Is marching on Cape Coast! * * * * * But Gladstone’s brow was sad, And Gladstone’s speech was trite: “The Land League take King Mensa! We do not want to fight.” He looked upon the telegram They gave him, with a frown: “I fear ’t will send my Budget up, And I want to keep it down.”