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AFTER CLASS DAY.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

WHAT horrid dream is this I have,

What visions round me creep,

Of dancing, and of crowded rooms,

Thus breaking off my sleep?

I see great hills of chicken-pie,

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And tuns of lemonade,

And soda-fountains brimming full,

Through which I seem to wade.

And coffee-cups and pretty girls,

And sherbet white and red,

And salad by the bucketful,

That spy in every spread.

And now great clouds of musty smoke

Upon my senses steal;

And when I think of Class-Day's joys,

Ah me! how ill I feel!

W. R. T.Saturday, 10 A. M.

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