The country’s so dry in Jou-jou land
You could wet it down with Sahara sand,
And over its boundaries the air
Is hotter than ’tis—­no matter where: 
A camel drops down completely tanned
When he crosses the line into Jou-jou land—­
If things are nowadays as things were then. 
Allah il Allah!  Oo-aye!  Amen!

A traveller once got stuck in the sand
On the fiery edge of Jou-jou land;
The Jou-jous they confiscated him,
And the Jim-jam tore him limb from limb;
But, dying, he said:  “If eaten I am,
I’ll disagree with this Dam-jim-jam! 
He’ll think his stomach’s a Hoodoo’s den!”
Allah il Allah!  Oo-aye!  Amen!

Then the Jim-jam felt so bad inside,
It just about humbled his royal pride. 
He decided to physic himself with sand,
And throw up his job in the Jou-jou land. 
He descended his throne of red-hot rocks,
And hired a barber to cut his locks: 
The barber died of the got-’em-again,
Allah il Allah!  Oo-aye!  Amen!

And now let every good Mussulman
Get all the good from this tale he can. 
If you wander off on a Jamboree,
Across the stretch of the desert sea,
Look out that right at the height of your booze
You don’t get caught by the Jou-jou-jous! 
You may, for the Jim-jam’s at it again. 
Allah il Allah!  Oo-aye!  Amen!

ALARIC BERTRAND START.
Tuftonian.

Love up to Date.

I know she loves me, though with scorn
  She treats my adoration;
I know she loves me, though my suit
  She checks with strong negation.

And this I know, with proof as sure
  As though her lips had said it: 
Her heart I have before my eyes,
  And there I’ve plainly read it.

For cathode rays have stolen through
  This maiden so deceiving;
And thus her heart I’ve photographed,
  And seeing is believing.

S. L. HOWARD.
The Tech.

Miss Milly O’Naire.

She is not young and fair,
Nor has she golden hair,
Nor a dimple in each cheek,
If that is what you seek;
Hers is a gift more rare,
                  Miss Milly O’Naire.

She has not laughing eyes,
Blue as the summer skies,
Nor lips of cherry red,
On kisses to be fed;
No, it’s not for these I care,
                  Miss Milly O’Naire.

She is not wondrous wise,
Seeks not for learning’s prize. 
’Tis true she knows no Greek,
And her English grammar’s weak,
But why should I despair,
                  Miss Milly O’Naire.

So woo and win her I will,
For there’s my tailor’s bill,
  And creditors by the score;
  But they’ll trouble me no more,
For she has a million to spare,
        Miss Millionaire.

WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER.
The Badger.

A Shy Little Maid.

A love-lorn lad wooed a coy maid once,
All of a summer’s day he plead;
Oft he spoke of the bonds of love—­the dunce! 
And she shyly shook her head.