To the Gentlemen Who Make it Hard for Students

Wandering around in a trance

Not a chance, not even a dance?

The hall is crowded—move outside,

The cops are waiting with their pride,

To catch poor Student, drunk-incharge

Of his feelings, expanded large By that great drink, cool-brown-beer,

Curse to the cops when dances are near.

Humour I must and humour I do, (The poor young flatfoot's lost so few);

So in the waggon I must climb, Down to the clink and serve some time.

The moral of this story's light, Will't make things worse to start a fight?

—M.D.K.

* * *

"It would be a repulsive thing to imagine a woman going to an artificial Inseminary."—Hamlin.