Fairy Tales.

There was an old fellow named F * * r,
Who said, "You may think I don't care,
But I'm stricken with grief,
And I shake like a leaf
When I hear the Vice-Chancellor swear."

There was an old fidget namer F * * r,
Who said, "These darn students won't dare
To utter a sound
With Horace around—
Horace and me make a pair."

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There was an old fossil named F * * r,
Who sat in the Library chair;
And said, "Little boys
Make a horrid loud noise—
Let 'em make it outside in the air."

There was an old fungus named F * * r,
Who said, "I have under my hair
The most wonderful mind
That the Lord has designed,
But the Lord only knows why it's there."

There was an old foghorn named F * * r,
Who opened a meeting with prayer;
When they said, "You're a saint,"
He replied, "No, I ain't—
I'm giving the students a scare."

There was an old fogey named F * * r,
Who shaved off the top of his hair;
Said he, "When it rains
It will cool off my brains—
They're a little bit out of repair."

There was an old fakir named F * * r,
Who fastened two horns in his hair;
Said he, "On the level,
I'm not a bad devil—
I just want to look debonair."

There was an old faddist named F * * r,
Who sat upside down in his chair;
When they asked, "Do you drink?"
He replied, "No, I think
All my thoughts with my feet in the air."

There was an old—

(This is over the odds. Does our contributor seriously expect us to make space for his endless variations upon an impossible theme? There is a—and it's a basket of admirable capaciousness. Into it go the remaining ninety—Plop!—Ed., "Spike.")