'T is a cold, dark night; but the fire burns bright
Within the Tutor's room.
His basilisk eye roams restlessly,
And his brow is wrapped in gloom.
Yet a cruel smile plays round the while
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That mouth, so large, so grim,
And his baleful leer would awaken fear
In any beholding him.
The state of his table's surprising; some play-bills,
More bills of another kind;
Of cards a neat pack, which one with the knack
Can deal very much to his mind;
A volume in French, which a scandalized bench
Would doom to destruction instanter;
And a bottle of brandy, conveniently handy,
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Rules under which the Class Races will be Rowed.
