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THE TALE OF A PONY.

BEING AN ATTEMPT AT GRINDING DURING THE SEMI-ANNUALS.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

That my face was looking ghastly.

The college lawn looked all forlorn,

For heavy dues were plenty;

I went where I always feel most gone,

To Harvard No. 20.

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What I had learned by rote, I wrote;

The rest I thought I'd doctor;

So I tried to pass a very small note,

Which didn't get by the proctor.

Alas! the proctor's tramping soon

Set my poor head a whirring;

That fellow must have been a spoon,

For he seemed made for stirring.

My dreadful task at last was done,

I'm told I did not fail, now;

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