Advertisement

THE BURNING OF STOUGHTON.

BY SIR W-LT-R SC-TT.

Rose wreaths of sable smoke,

Volumed, and vast, and rolling far.

The gay Fritz-Snodkins cried, "Ta-ta!"

And from the maiden broke.

As when on silent village street

Advertisement

No moving mortal may you meet,

But if a horse falls in a fit,

Quick comes a crowd to look at it,

So now from every silent hall

Come Juniors swell and Seniors tall,

Gay Sophomores and Freshmen small.

And Library girls and boys withal,

And scouts and janitors, and all,

Do haste with stifled hum.

From out the cellars and the rooms

Advertisement