We dreamed together of the days, the dreambright days to come,

We were strictly confidential, and we called each other "chum."

And many a day we wandered together o'er the hills,

I seeking bugs and butterflies, and she, the ruined mills

And rustic bridges, and the like, that picturemakers prize

To run in with their waterfalls, and groves, and summer skies.

And many a quiet evening, in hours of silent

ease,

We floated down the river, or strolled beneath the trees,

And talked, in long gradation from the poets to the weather,

While the western skies and my cigar burned slowly out together.

Yet through it all no whispered word, no telltale glance or sigh,

Told aught of warmer sentiment than friendly sympathy.

We talked of love as coolly as we talked of nebulæ,

And thought no more of being one than we did of being three.

"Well, good-bye, chum!" I took her hand, for the time had come to go.

My going meant our parting, when to meet, we did not know.

I had lingered long, and said farewell with a very heavy heart;

For although we were but friends, 't is hard for honest friends to part.

"Good-bye, old fellow! don't forget your friends beyond the sea,

And some day, when you 've lots of time, drop a line or two to me."

The words came lightly, gayly, but a great sob, just behind,

Welled upward with a story of quite a different kind.

And then she raised her eyes to mine,-great liquid eyes of blue,

Filled to the brim, and running o'er, like violet cups of dew;

One long, long glance, and then I did, what I never did before

Perhaps the tears meant friendship, but I'm sure the kiss meant more.

WILLIAM B. TERRETT.

FRIEND AND LOVER.

WHEN Psyche's friend becomes her lover,
How sweetly these conditions blend!

But, oh, what anguish to discover
Her lover has become her friend!

MARY AINGE DE VERE (Madeline Bridges).

THE BOYS.

FROM "POEMS OF THE

CLASS OF TWENTY-NINE”

[HARVARD].

HAS there any old fellow got mixed with the boys? If there has, take him out, without making a

noise.

Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite!

Old Time is a liar! We're twenty to-night!

We're twenty! We're twenty! Who says we are more?

He 's tipsy,-young jackanapes!-show him the door!

"Gray temples at twenty?"—Yes! white, if we please;

Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there's nothing can freeze!

Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake!

Look close, you will see not a sign of a flake! We want some new garlands for those we have shed,

And these are white roses in place of the red.

We've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told,

Of talking (in public) as if we were old: