THE DEAD STUDENT. TO AUCTUS.

Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1580, 19 August 1882, Page 6

THE DEAD STUDENT.

TO AUCTUS.

'Twas mighty slow to make it seem as if poor Brown was dead ; 'Twas only just the day he died, he had to tako his bed ; The day beforo, he played first-base, and ran McFarland down ; And thenjto slip away so sly — 'twas not at all like Brown. 'Twas hard for my own life to leave that fellow's life behind ; 'Tis work, sometimes, to get a man well laid out in your mind! It would't have shook mo very much, long after all was o'er, To hear a whoop, and see the man go rushing past my door ! Poor Brown ! — so white and newly still within the room he lay ! I called upon him, as it were, at noon the second day. A-rushing into Brownie's room seemed awkward-like, and queer ; We hadn't spoken back and forth something like a year. We never pulled together square a single night or day : Whate'er direction I might start, Brown went the other way ; (Excepting in our love affairs ; we picked 1 a dozen bones About a girl Smith tried' to get, who fiii'lly married Jones.) He worked against me in our class, before v my very eyes ; He Opened up and scooped me square out ot the junior prize ; • I never wanted any place, clean from the . last at first, . But Brown was sure to have a friend who wanted it the worst ; In the :last campus rush, we , came to striclily business blows, And with' wie^'eye he left undimmed, I viewed\his/i'datnaged nose; In'short, \I came'at last to feel — I own it > < withtyshfay — , '. ' > M That life? Wul'd^be worth living ■ for, if , ' t Browntwrerejout the way.' 'He lay"wi,tkik tfist dingy room 1 , as white' ! , 1 /"•*.• ■„'''" [Thing's 'iUvm w.ere ' wondrous heat— the, t V^wbm'e^fiMdtttetnV;'' ! >'■;"< .''Twas'pldffifi'e'Wad 's^ttuffl ih f MaJ;, 1 ,and/ '^6" '^eWniWWMeWayy^-roun^ tiff I A 'bright ybgftfluj^pfjgirli^h flow^rsimuea'l

And through '; the open window; came a sweet geranium-breath } Close-caged, a small canary bird, with glossy, yellow throat, Tripped drearily from perch, and never sung a note , With hair unusually, combed, sat poor Mo Farland near, Alternately perusing Greek, and wrestling with a tear ; A homely little girl of six, for some old kindness' sate, Sat sobbing in a corner near, as if her heart would break ; The books looked pale and wretched like, almost as if they knew, And seemed to be a whispering their titles to the view : His rod and gun were in their place : and high where all could see , Gleamed jauntily the boating-cup he won last year from me ; I lifted up the solemn sheet ; the honest, manly face Had signs of study and of toil that death could not erase ; As western skies at twilight mark where late the sun has been Brown's face showed yet the mind and soul that late had burned within He looked so grandly helpless there upon that lonely bed — Ah me ! these manly foes are foes no more when they are dead ! " Old boy," said I, " 'twas half my fault; this heart makes late amends," I grasped the white cold hand in mme — and Brown and I were friends. Farm Fc&ivals by Will Curleton.

My works, the reader and the hearer praise, They're not exact, a brother-poets says. I heed him not; for when I give a feast, To please the cook I care not, but the guest. —Martial.