In Algebra, if Algebra be ours, x and x2 can ne’er be equal powers, Unless x=1, or none at all.

It is the little error in the sum, That by and by will make the answer come To something queer, or else not come at all.

The little error in the easy sum, The little slit across the kettle-drum, That makes the instrument not play at all.

It is not worth correcting: let it go: But shall I? Answer, Prudence, answer, no. And bid me do it right or not at all.

p. 76THE WASTER SINGING AT MIDNIGHT

p. 76

AFTER LONGFELLOW

AFTER LONGFELLOW

Loud he sang the song Ta Phershon For his personal diversion, Sang the chorus U-pi-dee, Sang about the Barley Bree.

In that hour when all is quiet Sang he songs of noise and riot, In a voice so loud and queer That I wakened up to hear.

Songs that distantly resembled Those one hears from men assembled In the old Cross Keys Hotel, Only sung not half so well.

p. 77For the time of this ecstatic Amateur was most erratic, And he only hit the key Once in every melody.

p. 77

If ‘he wot prigs wot isn’t his’n Ven he’s cotched is sent to prison,’ He who murders sleep might well Adorn a solitary cell.

But, if no obliging peeler Will arrest this midnight squealer, My own peculiar arm of might Must undertake the job to-night.

p. 78THIRTY YEARS AFTER

p. 78

Two old St. Andrews men, after a separation of nearly thirty years, meet by chance at a wayside inn. They interchange experiences; and at length one of them, who is an admirer of Mr. Swinburne’s Poems and Ballads, speaks as follows:

If you were now a bejant, And I a first year man, We’d grind and grub together In every kind of weather, When Winter’s snows were regent, Or when the Spring began; If you were now a bejant, And I a first year man.

If you were what you once 

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