I

With gleeful exultation

Sing all hail to spring vacation

To the coming of a week of great enjoyment.

Let us offer an ovation

Pouring forth our high elation

For the seven blissful days of no employment.

II

Some will go southward to Broadway.

Some will go westward instead,

Others will seek the white highway,

But I--I am going to bed.

There are those who will tank up on liquor.

Thus making the week one long souse.

The golf bug will live in his knickers--

But I'll slumber, I'll nap and I'll drouse.

Some will dance on through the night-time

And exotic hours will keep:

Be that as it may--now's the right time

For me to catch up on my sleep.

I am a movie fan.

I am a movie fan.

All my waking hours I'll spend

In the Metropolitan.

Alone at Last,--Or,--Heaven Will Protect the Senior

(To be sung on a dim stage to the sounds of "Hearts and Flowers" played on a muted saxaphone.)

The bells of St. Paul's struck gently, vibrating out through the night,

Rousing, a gaunt sad figure, bent over the candle light,

Turning, he saw his room-mate, home-ward bound, bag in hand, hat on head.

And brushing a tear from his eye-lids he turned to him and softly said:

Chorus: feelingly

"Tell the dear family I miss them,

Kiss Myrtle for me, will you, pard?

Have them pray to the Lord up above them

That I sometime get out of the Yard.

Take Rover a-romping, ride Dobbin.

Be hearty, be happy, be gay,

Think not of me left here sobbin

A Senior I am I must pay."

His room-mate stole out, very sadly, pitying his cruel fate.

Stifling a sob and remembering that he was twenty-eight.

That next spring vacation he'd sorrow, that he too would cry against heaven.

A prisoner of wisdom--ah, thesis! to suffer as twenty-seven!

Arthurian Legend

Paint em, draw one, hold the soup

Two on the black and tan.

A double-O, eggs allay-up,

One lawge milk no lamb.

Drop two, dice 'em, make it thin.

Yes, there is no spinach.

Seagoing's ready, supper's in

This column's reached its finach.