Of the stains of the old Journalisten? 
        Of the rose that I begged from your hair? 
     When you turned, and I saw something glisten—­
        Dear Kitty, don’t frown; it was there! 
     But that idiot Delane in the middle
        Bounced in with ‘Our dance, I—­ahem!’
     And—­the rose you may find in my Liddell
        And Scott when you come to Commem.

     Then, Kitty, let ‘yes’ be the answer. 
        We’ll dance at the ’Varsity Ball,
     And the morning shall find you a dancer
        In Christ Church or Trinity hall. 
     And perhaps, when the elders are yawning
        And rafters grow pale overhead
     With the day, there shall come with its dawning
        Some thought of that sentence unsaid. 
     Be it this, be it that—­’I forget,’ or
        ’Was joking’—­whatever the fem-
     -inine fib, you’ll have made me your debtor
        And come,—­you will come? to Commem.

OCCASIONAL VERSES.

ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS.

Designed to show that the practice of lying is not confined to children.

By the late W. W. (of H.M.  Inland Revenue Service).

     And is it so?  Can Folly stalk
     And aim her unrespecting darts
     In shades where grave Professors walk
        And Bachelors of Arts?

     I have a boy, not six years old,
     A sprite of birth and lineage high: 
     His birth I did myself behold,
        His caste is in his eye.

     And oh! his limbs are full of grace,
     His boyish beauty past compare: 
     His mother’s joy to wash his face,
        And mine to brush his hair!

     One morn we strolled on our short walk,
     With four goloshes on our shoes,
     And held the customary talk
        That parents love to use.

    (And oft I turn it into verse,
     And write it down upon a page,
     Which, being sold, supplies my purse
        And ministers to age.)

     So as we paced the curving High,
     To view the sights of Oxford town
     We raised our feet (like Nelly Bly),
        And then we put them down.

    ’Now, little Edward, answer me’—­
     I said, and clutched him by the gown—­
    ’At Cambridge would you rather be,
        Or here in Oxford town?’

     My boy replied with tiny frown
    (He’d been a year at Cavendish),
    ’I’d rather dwell in Oxford town,
        If I could have my wish.’

    ’Now, little Edward, say why so;
     My little Edward, tell me why.’ 
    ‘Well, really, Pa, I hardly know.’ 
       ‘Remarkable!’ said I: 

    ’For Cambridge has her “King’s Parade,”
     And much the more becoming gown;
     Why should you slight her so,’ I said,
    ‘Compared with Oxford town?’