Sold--the half hundred!
Grinned all the dentals bare,
Swung all their caps in air,
Uncorking bottles there,
Watching the Freshmen, while
Every one wondered;
Plunged in tobacco smoke,
With many a desperate stroke,
Dozens of bottles broke;
Then they came back, but not,
Not the half hundred!"

Lest from this merry squib, which doubtless celebrated some college
prank, wrong conclusions should be drawn, I hasten to say that in
college James Garfield neither drank nor smoked.

The next poem is rather long, but it possesses interest as a serious
production of one whose name has become a household word. It is entitled

"MEMORY.

"'Tis beauteous night; the stars look brightly down
Upon the earth, decked in her robe of snow.
No light gleams at the window save my own,
Which gives its cheer to midnight and to me.
And now with noiseless step sweet Memory comes,
And leads me gently through her twilight realms.
What poet's tuneful lyre has ever sung,
Or delicatest pencil e'er portrayed
The enchanted, shadowy land where Memory dwells?