From out the dusk the chimney points,
  Like guiding finger, to the skies;
Down drops the curtain of the night,
  And all the plain in darkness lies,

When, as the college buildings seem
  To lose their form in shapeless mass,
The lights shine out as poppies gleam
  Amid the grass.

CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD.
Four-Leaved Clover.

Philosophy.

Shall I grieve because a maid
  Swore to love me—­failed to do it? 
When we both are old and staid,
  I shall laugh—­and she shall rue it. 
Shall I grieve, if for a prize,
  Strive my best—­I fail to win it? 
In the world where honor lies,
  Medal men are seldom in it.

C.W.  CRANNELL.
Garnet.

Bed During Exams.

(With Apologies to Mr. Stevenson.)

I used to go to bed at night,
And only worked when day was light. 
But now ’tis quite the other way,
I never get to bed till day.

I look up from my work and see
The morning light shine in on me,
And listen to a warning knell—­
The tinkle of the rising bell.

And does there not seem cause to weep,
When I should like so much to sleep,
I have to sing this mournful lay,
I cannot get to bed till day?

CLARA WARREN VAIL.
Bryn Mawr Lantern.

Under Two Flags.

      It’s all very well
      For a boy, who can yell
For his own special college through all, without fail. 
      How can I be true
      To the red or the blue,
When Will is at Harvard, and Tom is at Yale?

      When one comes to call,
      I must stop in the hall
To see that his pin’s in a prominent place,
      They’re both on the crew,
      And I’m all in a stew,
For I’m pledged as a mascot for both in the race!

      Dear Will’s such a swell,
      And he dresses so well,
(Tom says that he puts on a great deal of dog),
      His tenor is fine
      And his waltzing divine. 
But you ought to see Tom do his skirt-dance and clog!

It’s all very well
      For a boy, who can yell
For his own special college through all, without fail. 
      Why, I’d gladly be true
      To the red or the blue,
If Tom were at Harvard, or Will went to Yale!

JULIET W. TOMPKINS.
Vassar Miscellany.

After the Soiree

I beside the blue-gate lying,
Round and round all objects flying,
Just to reach my bed was trying,
      After the Soiree.

Now I hear the music stopping,
Now the corks from champagne popping,
Now the wasted money dropping,
      After the Soiree,

Now I sleep and now awaken,
Find myself by classmates taken
To the bed that I’d forsaken,
      After the Soiree.

When the light of day comes o’er me,
What have I but flunks before me? 
Greek and Latin, how they bore me,
      After the Soiree.