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THE BURNING OF STOUGHTON.

BY SIR W-LT-R SC-TT.

FRITZ-SNODKINS, late of eighty-two,

Was walking on North Avenue

With Miss Gushee, of the Annex,

Descendant of an ancient Prex.

The morning sun was veiled in mist,

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December's breath the bare trees kissed,

And slumbering in the morning still

Lay Harvard, - Culture's grinding-mill.

It was the recitation hour,

And men read Greek and Schopenhauer.

"But lo!" cried Snodkins, "see, behold,

What mystery doth now unfold!"

And sudden, as he spoke,

From ancient Stoughton's low-hung roof,

From out those walls they call fire-proof,

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