By the galop's wild whirl shower'd down on my shoulder

From turbulent tresses of hair.

In my ear is the clatter of chalk against blackboard,

Not music's voluptuous swell;

Alas! this is life,—so pass mortal pleasures,

And,—thank goodness, there goes the bell!

AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD.

 in two parts.

in two parts.

 part one.

part one.

"Come right in. How are you, Fred?

Find a chair, and get a light."

"Well, old man, recovered yet

From the Mather's jam last night?"

"Didn't dance. The German's old."

"Didn't you? I had to lead—

Awful bore! Did you go home?"

"No. Sat out with Molly Meade.

Jolly little girl she is—

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