'Perish all that comes between us,' cried Athletes, as he threw
His weed full fifty paces in the stream of Camus blue:
The burning weed encountered the cold river with the hiss
Which ensues when fire and water, wranglers old, are forced to kiss.

'Sir Student, much I thank thee,' said the Lady, 'thou hast shown
The fragrance of a lily, or of petals freshly blown;
But before to thee I listen there are questions not a few
Which demand from thee an answer satisfactory and true.'

'Fire away,' exclaimed Athletes, 'I will do the best I can;
But remember, gentle Maiden, that I'm not a reading man;
So your humble servant begs you, put your questions pretty plain,
For my Tutors all assure me I'm not overstocked with brain.

'Sir Student' cried the Lady, and her glance was stern and high,
Hast thou felt the soft vibration of a summer sunset sky?
Art thou soulful? Art thou tuneful? Cans't thou
weep o'er nature's woes?
Art thou redolent of Ruskin? Dost thou love a yellow rose?

'Hast thou bathed in emanations from the canvass of Burne Jones?
As thou gazest at a Whistler, doth it whistle wistful tones?
Art thou sadly sympathetic with a symphony in blue?
Tell me, tell me, gentle Student, art thou really quite tootoo?'

''Pon my word,' replied the Student, 'this is coming
it too strong:
I can sketch a bit at Lecture, and can sing a comic song;