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ALMOST A SUICIDE.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

ALL alone in a high-studded chamber,

A pale, sad student sat,

While the winds of a bleak November

Came moaning o'er the flat.

And he thought, as he quaffed the crystal,

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How when Freshman - a hopeful child -

(Here he snatched up a pocket-pistol,

Then he pointed it grimly and - smiled), -

How at first 't was his modest ambition

To get ninety per cent, or yet more;

And his next, to escape a condition;

Then - to number the Chapel front-door.

He remembered the words of a croaker,

Who had groaned in his Sophomore year,

'Mid the charms of the blind goddess POKER,

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