PART I.

MY chum once took the midnight car

For Cambridge from the Hub;

And here my story doth begin,

Since here comes in the rub.

I saw a change, and noted well

His sad, despondent air,

And half conjectured he had had

Some trouble 'bout his fare.

His meals at commons went untouched,

His lessons went unlearned,

The pages of his Horace and

His Sophocles unturned.

At length, when this sad state of things

Had ceased to be a joke,

One night I made resolve to speak,

So sported tight our oak;

And as the glowing fire burned

Its cheerful soul away,

I opened fire with these words,

"Now Jack, old boy, I say,

What happened to your spirits, man,

For all this blessed while?

I'll bet my summons from the Dean

You scarce know how to smile."

He drew a deep and weary sigh,

And then, in accents low,

"What fellow, Dick, can comprehend

Another fellow's woe?

You may remember that I went

One night to see the play,

When Wethersbee was at the Globe.

I went with Jones and Grey.

And in that car, the last one out -

Ye Gods, what grace was there! -

Sat loveliness personified

And paid a ten-cent fare.

We parted front of Holyoke,

As part the blest and lost.

Ah Dick! thou really canst not know

What that short ride has cost."

He ceased. At length a happy thought

Across my fancy flashed.

"Why, Jack," said I, "if, as it seems,

You hopelessly are smashed,

Then take the wings of conquering love,

And search the fair one out.

'T is evident from all you say

She's still somewhere about."

PART II.

Sequel.

A month elapsed; one afternoon

Through Brighton Street we strayed.

The other streets we all had tried,

Nor found the long-sought maid.

There, on the left hand of the way,

Or 't was so eight years since,

A bun shop stands, with rolls and twists

And pies, both squash and mince.

I know not what attraction 't was

That held our fixed gaze

Upon these unromantic things

Set forth in prim arrays;

But there we stood, when suddenly

A look of rapturous bliss

Suffused my chum's sad countenance,

As when the sun's beams kiss

The rain-drops from the violets

Or from the eglantine, -

The strangest look of happiness

Mine eyes had ever seen.

There at the counter stood, oh, what!

Must I the truth reveal?

An Ethiopian, black as jet,

And uglier than the De'il.

"Why, Jack, old boy, what means this joke?

That surely's not the girl,

Who from its seat your better sense

In madness e'er could hurl."

Alas! It was the self-same girl

Had quite upset his mind.

The reason was, if it must out,

My chum was color-blind.

H. H., '76.