A MARKING SYSTEM.

'T is a cold, dark night; but the fire burns bright

Within the Tutor's room.

His basilisk eye roams restlessly,

And his brow is wrapped in gloom.

Yet a cruel smile plays round the while

That mouth, so large, so grim,

And his baleful leer would awaken fear

In any beholding him.

The state of his table's surprising; some play-bills,

More bills of another kind;

Of cards a neat pack, which one with the knack

Can deal very much to his mind;

A volume in French, which a scandalized bench

Would doom to destruction instanter;

And a bottle of brandy, conveniently handy,

Standing near to an emptied decanter.

There's wealth of tobacco, and surely no lack o'

Those objects which smoking assist;

Red counters are found lying scattered around

In rather large numbers for whist;

There's a "group" on his desk which reminds of burlesque,

Of scenes which made Freshmen turn giddy, as

With new-born elations they watched the gyrations

Of Camille, of Eliza, and Lydia's!

But to naught of the kind is the Tutor's mind

Directed for the nonce,

And he sits and stares and glares and swears, -

Swears, glares, and stares at once.

In one hand may be found a book blue-bound,

In the other a pencil red;

And he dashes and slashes, in a manner that rash is,

In wrath by frenzy fed.

O, what is the cause, and why should he pause

To comment with sarcasm caustic?

And why has he "sot on" those youths who do not

At breaking grammarians' laws stick?

I'll tell you his motive: an offering votive

Has he made to Cleanthe, - his heart;

But, lover-like, spurred on, her own she's conferred on

A Senior; must Tutor depart.

O, his wrath (which I sing) is a terrible thing;

His fury a subject for trembling;

His temper is baddish; his anger, like radish,

So hot as to bear no dissembling.

His vengeance he wreaks on all round him, but seeks

In especial his foe to harass.

And he's been heard to state, red with passion, his hatred

For the man and his friends and his class.

So he sits there in rage, and disfigures each page

With numerous mystic devices

Which mean "very bad," "such delusion is sad,"

Or, "this phrase from the pony quite nice is."

He, frowning the while in a tragical style,

His passion now hisses, now mutters;

And hid from his sight, by poetical right,

Let us list to the words that he utters.

"O, ages shall tell of the doom that befell

The stripling who thwarted my passion;

The whole world shall see that who trifles with me

Straight suffers in summary fashion.

Ah! tremble, false maid, who my true love betrayed,

No more thy subservient suitor,

My weapons I wield in a classical field,

I strike with the arms of the Tutor.

"And thou, foolish boy, delusive the joy

That briefly illumines thy features;

The sun of to-morrow shall see thee, in sorrow,

Before me, most abject of creatures.

Then adamant rock shall my firmness but mock,

Growing sterner with all opposition!

The maiden betrays, but the Tutor repays."

And he writes in large letters, - CONDITION.

C. A. M.