When ye Northe Wynde sweeps ye snowe
& Icyclles hange all belowe,
Then, for soothe, Olde Winter, he
Letts me dance with
Dorothy!

ARTHUR CHENEY TRAIN.
_Harvard Advocate._


~The Prof.'s Little Girl.~

She comes to the Quad when her Ladyship pleases,
And loiters at will in the sun and the shade;
As free from the burden of work as the breezes
That play with the bamboo is this little maid.
The tongues of the bells, as they beat out the morning,
Like mad in their echoing cases may whirl
Till they weary of calling her,--all their sharp warning
Is lost on the ear of the prof's little girl.

With a scarred-over heart that is old in the knowledge
Of all the manoeuvres and snares of the Hall,
Grown wary of traps in its four years at college,
And able at last to keep clear of them all,--
Oh, what am I doing away from my classes
With a little blue eye and a brown little curl?
Ah me! fast again, and each precious hour passes
In slavery sweet to the prof's little girl.