'Poems from the Highlands.'

To Kate.

All hail to thee, immortal Kate!
Whom, while we live, we will adore;
Though angry Profs, thee cruelly hate,
Thy name we'll ever love the more.

Let them, this day, look on with wrath
At thee and thy devoted band;
Still shall thy smiles light up our path,
And make us round thee firmly stand.

To thee we're bound by every tie,
And long thy virtues we have known;
Thy love we'll cherish till we die,
For round our hearts thy spell is thrown.

No fairer maid hath e'er been seen,
Our hearts to stir with deeper love,
Than Kate—true beauty's peerless Queen—
An angel from the world above.

Anew, to-day, we spread thy fame,
That distant lands of thee may hear—
That all may seek to know thy name
And laud thee each revolving year.

Then, lovely Kate, our hearts are thine,
And strongly we'll maintain thy cause,
And drink to thee— our toast divine—
In spite of all Senatus' laws.

Notice.

Strayed, from their stalls in the church, sundry Professors, who cannot be found in the other churches of St. Andrews. Any information, as to how they are engaged on Sunday forenoons, will be thankfully received by the Hebdomadars appointed by the Fourth Year Students.

Recitation.

[Written expressly for the Directors, or rather Director, of the College Hall: giving a little insight into 'all his doings in connection with it. It might be entitled, 'A Haul over the Coals,' for the Hall young men(?). Miss Kennedy, the Authoress, rather expects they will holler when they peruse it.]

What's Sh—p about, with his ideal Hall?
Let him take care, or it may have a fall.
Of its good name, full sure, he makes a noise;
It's for young gentlemen, perhaps 'twere better—boys.
I listened to a speech the other day,
And sing it now I will, without delay:
'Now lads' says John' if any break the laws,
'Twill come to this, I'll introduce the tawse.
No wine, no song,—you can't join Kate;
For any opposition I will rusticate.
Let there be no frivolity shown here:
If one rule's broke, I'll stop your beer.
Now, like good boys, be punctual to dine,—
A little work, then prayers, then bed at nine.
Perhaps you come to see some student life;
But I will keep you boys, till, boys, you take a wife.
I see I've good material this year—
There's none of you have pluck, so I've no fear.
Sometimes I've seen a man at this grand Hall—
(Aside.) One who, quite simply, could have licked you all;—
And then the outside people used to say,
The Hall was at its best and brightest day.
And tho', since then, 'tis fallen from forty-two,
Down to its present state, there's twelve of you,
Yet, with my idle time, as Principal,
I ne'er will rest, I'm sure, until I shall—
At any rate I'll do my best to try—
To make this Hall a School of Industry.
Now boys, concerning this, what have you got to say?'
Chorus of youngsters—'Oh! please sir, we'll obey.'
'I'm glad you are subjected to my hand.
And now, my dears, 'tis nine, so I command
You'll off to bed, when bread and milk you've got;
But first we'll have a hymn from Dr. Watt.'
Then rise their simple voices to the skies
In, 'Children, you should never let your angry passions rise!'

Sandy Hodge.

Air—'Donald Caird.'

Sandy Hodge can act the swell,
Drink a gill, and ring the bell;
Blithely sing a guid Scotch sang,
Praise the Profs, the hale day lang,
Keep the plate, and bear the mace,
Stories tak' tae St_____t G______e.
Tommy's article on Taylor
Sandy thinks a perfect failure.

Chorus.—
Sandy Hodge we've come again,
Come again, come again;
Tell the Profs, and Willie Glen,
Sandy Hodge we've come again!

Sandy can beat Glen at Statics,
Problems solve in Mathematics,
Homer quote, and act Macbeth—
Swear he died for want o' breath.
Weel he kens each student's forte:
Whether beer he drinks or port,
A' that crib, and whaur they lodge—
What's no kent to Sandy Hodge!

Chorus.
Sandy can set aff a story,
Criticise baith Whig and Tory,
Show how F—sch—r stots and stumps,
Beat Geordie Combe at reading bumps;
Tell the time its gaun tae snaw,
When the wind will wastly blaw,
When a comet will appear—
Hour and day, the month and year!

Chorus.
Sandy is as gleg's a needle,
Active porter, solemn beadle;
Sic a pattern o' decorum!
The very stour'll flee before him.
If Dilke and he could get thegither,
They'd introduce a sweeping measure.
page 9 Will S—n elect him Glen's successor?
Or Portland mak' him a Professor?

Chorus.
Sandy, when he's got six drams,
Laughs at a' degree exams.,
Vows that ony dunce or ass
Micht, wi' honours, always pass;
Boasts its just his fame and knowledge
That bring the callants to the College.
Wha could better fill the post
O' Janitor, when Sandy's lost!
Chorus.

Song.

. . . . . 'Nec

Parce cadis tibi destinatis.'—Horace.

Home they brought the young man drunk,
He could neither speak nor stand;
Low he lay within his bunk,
Under Bacchus' magic wand.
All his friends around him stood,
Not amazed the sight to see;
Topers were they all and good,
Yet was none so good as he.
Then they raised his drooping head,
Kindly freed him from his shoes,
Gently laid him in his bed,
Left him verging on the blues.

Notice.

New Work in course of Publication, entitled: 'Scanning made Easy.' Virgil, Horace, & Co., Publishers.

This highly interesting work contains an account of the new method of scanning, which the author seems desirous of establishing. The ground-work of the system is, that one short quantity in every line may be pronounced long, provided that in the same line two long quantities be pronounced short.

We believe that this system has already been adopted by one of the Scotch Universities. We earnestly recommend our readers to a perusal of this work.

A Lover's Contribution.

My bonnie Kate, that ye
may ken Ye're wanted by the Fourth Year Men,
To be their heroine again,
Clad in your best,
I've ta'en a thocht to lift my pen,
At your behest.

Yes, daintie lass, ye maun appear,
For we just court ye ance a-year;
And though by chance the Profs., I hear,
Are wild at us,
Yet tak' nae heed, nor drap a tear,
At a' their fuss.

What though Jock Sh—p runs up and down,
His hat scarce stickin' on his crown,
Misca'in' ye for black and brown,
An' breedin' strife;
It's richt weel kent, in a' the town,
He's got a wife!

But we've young hearts to gie awa'—
And ane you'll get, and aiblins a',
Provided ye like Brigham's law,
Across the sea;
But should ye like-na this ava',
Ye're sure o' me.

What maid can be compared wi' you,
Whose cheeks partake the rose's hue,
Whose bonnie witchin' e'en, sae blue,
Us a' mak' skeerie—
E'en ilka Prof, doth sometimes rue
Ye're no his dearie.

And though they may declare they hate
Our love, our gentle, darling Kate,
When ye appear, still, be na' blate,
But smile on a';
And for the Profs., when seen in state,
Care not a straw.

We'll mak' ye envied far and wide,
For in a carriage ye maun ride,
Wi' mounted horsemen by its side,
Swords shining bricht,
To ward awa' oppressions tide,
And guard the richt.

Then haste, and to our wish agree,
That we again yersel' may see
Amidst your lovers fifty-three,
Wi' hearts sae true—
Lawyers, wizards, sailors, clowns they be,
A motley crew!

The Profs. Annual Dinner.

(From our own Reporter, Mr. Hodge.)

Tune—'The barrin' O' oor Door.'
'Taws all about the Bursary time,
An' a gran' time, tae, is that, O;
Our Profs, determined they wad dine
On the surplus bursaries fat, O!

Chorus.—For the barrin' o' oor door, &c.
Then, when of vittals they were fu',
For they'd been weel discussed, O,
They each did try to mak' a speech,
An' Johnny spoke the first, O!

Chorus.
So up sprang he, wi' well-filled paunch,
An' shouts out, wi' a roar, O:
'That nane may see's the waur o' drink,
S——n, rise an' bar the door, O!'

Chorus.
But strong objections to this plan
Were raised by cautious B——s, O;
'For hoo can Hodge and Glen win' in,
To tak' us to our weans, O?

Chorus.
'That if S——n did, he'd summons him
For illegal detention.
That John should such an order give,
'Twas bar-bar-ous to mention!'

Chorus.
To leave't unlocked they did agree,
Such good sense Tommy teaches;
But John cries, 'This 'ill never dae—
We maun get to the speeches!'

Chorus.
S——n 'Hoped that they'd excuse—'ish—'peech,
She din'r had been—fush'—ra'e—
But one dish—agreed wish—him—
A shlice o'—Ramshay—Bush'ray!'

Chorus.
page 12 B——s said, at C——ll's turn, 'Of wine
He'd bad as much as two, O.'
A voice was heard from 'neath the board:
'It'sh a—lie,—I—'ish'nt fou'—O!'

Chorus.
Then all the gaze was turned on Fl—t,
Expecting something deep, O;
But quick they saw, as soon's they looked
That he was fast asleep, O!

Chorus.
H——le sprang up, in a heated state,
And none had risen hotter:
I've analysed Fl—t's toddy,
And I can't find any water!'

Chorus.
Says R——ts, 'Ah! so soon I see
Some brothers drunk as Satan,
I may as well now warn ye
The roberts are in waitin'!'

Chorus.
Cries John, 'I'll prove too sharp for them,
They'll wait until they're sick, O;
And if the bobbies wait for me,
I'll play them my Auld trick, O!'

Chorus.
John called on Prof. Mac——d
To add to the good cheer, O;
Says he, 'This speech is likely
The last that you'll mak' here, O!'

Chorus
Then the rat began to squeak,
With visage deeply frowning:
'There's been a little scheme tried on
To vilely do me Brown-ing.

Chorus.
'All of you have helped in vain,
To dig me from my hole, O—
To cast me off on half my screw,
But I will keep the whole, O!'

Chorus.
F—ch—r remarked, 'He'd give a toast,
If it was not too late, O;
Twas one they'd drink most heartily;
The health of darling Kate, O!'

Chorus.
page 13 Our Medical said, 'He'd reply,
Since that he was a Bell(e), O,'
Said, 'Till this toast, the speeches
Had been a monstrous sell, O!'

Chorus.
He told he was to darling Kate
In Scotch what is called 'Saft tae' er;'
But of her charms he would speak '
'More particularly after!'

Chorus.
An' just then Hodge popped in his head,
Said, 'Glen, to tak' ane hame, O,
Had come, but come sae drunk, that he
Couldna' mind the name, O!'

Chorus.
Then Johnny said 'twas time to go,
'There's nane the waur o' wine, O.
I am sae sure, I'd tak' my oath;
We'll a' drink Auld.-lang-syne, O!'
Chorus.

The Two Lives: or, The Only Real and Original Sleeping Beauty

(Established 1459).

I.—The Sleeping Beautt.—Kate Kennedy's Eve.

The gentle wind that whispers in the eaves
Of this old house, wherein I write,
Is blowing, too, all softly through the leaves,
That flicker at Kate's window-sill to-night.

Her window is half-open, and the breeze
Goes on, and tosses up the veil and bow—
The knot of ribbons, lying by the glass,
Just where she flung them, now a year ago.

And, ah! list softly. On the shadowed bed,
Quietly the girl lies;
And she sleeps the sleep of a gentle flower,
Waiting till winter dies.

The wind ripples over her yellow hair—
Tenderly ripples, as would a sigh;
And the sweet, still face is lovlier e'en
Than the dream of a lover's memory.

page 14

She sleeps—and, out in the darkened street,
Man on his eager way
Is hurrying still, and the tread of his feet
Follows the changing day.