THE BURNING OF STOUGHTON.

FRITZ-SNODKINS, late of eighty-two,

Was walking on North Avenue

With Miss Gushee, of the Annex,

Descendant of an ancient Prex.

The morning sun was veiled in mist,

December's breath the bare trees kissed,

And slumbering in the morning still

Lay Harvard, - Culture's grinding-mill.

It was the recitation hour,

And men read Greek and Schopenhauer.

"But lo!" cried Snodkins, "see, behold,

What mystery doth now unfold!"

And sudden, as he spoke,

From ancient Stoughton's low-hung roof,

From out those walls they call fire-proof,

Rose wreaths of sable smoke,

Volumed, and vast, and rolling far.

The gay Fritz-Snodkins cried, "Ta-ta!"

And from the maiden broke.

As when on silent village street

No moving mortal may you meet,

But if a horse falls in a fit,

Quick comes a crowd to look at it,

So now from every silent hall

Come Juniors swell and Seniors tall,

Gay Sophomores and Freshmen small.

And Library girls and boys withal,

And scouts and janitors, and all,

Do haste with stifled hum.

From out the cellars and the rooms

Appear the goodies with their brooms,

Like witches weird from nether glooms.

Up from the depths of Carl's hotel

Rushes the bummer, with a yell,

And dig and grind and proctor fell,

And all, do rushing come.

"Man the fire-ladders!" is the cry,

And hundreds rush to where they lie.

Alas! some carpenter or clown,

To keep them safe, had tied them down.

But see! look there! with frequent thumps,

Jones bravely plies his bucket pumps;

A brawny Senior stirs his stumps,

And water on the fire-fiend dumps.

And now a shout, prolonged and loud,

Doth break from the assembled crowd,

And roll along the heaven;

For slowly, and with bearing proud,

Comes Steamer No. 7.

Now up the stairs the students surge,

A ladder trembles on the verge

Of Stoughton's sturdy roof.

The hose is on, the waters fly;

Fearless and fierce the firemen cry,

"Ho! Freshmen, stand aloof!"

Now fall the muddy streams like rain,

And clothes of nobby Juniors stain,

Yet fight they none the less.

O'er foaming hose and winding stair,

Mid all the watery tumult there,

The throng doth wildly press.

Our Football leader is wet through,

The half-stripped Captain of the Crew

Has smashed his hat, and on the way

The "Praeses" of the H. A. A.

Cries, "I will give a pewter cup

To him who is the first man up."

The Art Club dash from stair to stair,

To save the pictures hanging there;

And, liking not to be outdone,

Pull the proud crew of '81

Upon the hose, as for a cup,

Till firemen call out, "Ease her up!"

The owners of the rooms looked blue,

Their friends advised them what to do:

"A rope! a blanket!" was the cry.

Chairs, books, and things from windows fly,

And then are caught, - most of them, though,

By members of the Nine below.

The things were piled up in the Yard;

No Rifle Corps was there to guard,

But sitting on the pile we saw

One solitary janitor,

Who, asked if it was hard to sit,

Replied that he was used to it.

By Holden's side, unseen betimes,

Rested the fair one of my rhymes.

Ask me not what the maiden feels,

Left alone in this dreadful hour.

Perchance she only stands and squeals,

Perchance some superhuman power

Braces her up, - perchance despair.

She only said, "Is Snodkins there?"

The tumult surges, through the air

Loud rings the cry, "Is Snodkins there?"

With that, straight o'er the fence there strode

Two Juniors drenched and wet,

And on the ground a dripping load -

A drownded boy - they set.

His collar lost, his breeches torn,

His mustache singed, his eyebrows gone,

Two huge black smooches in their place, -

Can that be nobby Snodkins' face?

'T is he! 't is he! - he opes his eyes,

And gazes round in wild surprise.

"Go find my hat! Go back again!

Cry, 'Snodkins to the rescue!' - Vain!

No fall like this have I been through

Since I was dropped from '82."

Just then a stream of water flew

With freshened force from Steamer 2,

And big drops o'er Fritz-Snodkins threw.

"Scoot, scoot, men!" was the cry.

But Snodkins lay upon the ground,

And wildly moaned, "I'm drowned, I'm drowned!

And therefore I must die.

On, Juniors, on, and give 'em fits!"

Were the last words of nobby Fritz.

By this the hour of noonday fell,

Our faithful Jones 'gan ring the bell,

And such a yell was there,

Of sudden and portentous scorn,

As if a Freshman had been shorn

By Soph'mores of his hair.

And still the firemen fought amain,

Although the fire was out;

Though they had nothing more to gain,

They let the water spout.

Students came swimming down the stairs

Faster than e'er they went to prayers,

And chairs and sofas dropped below,

By ropes and blankets lowered slow;

And, safely tied with strings,

A wicked man down midway sent,

Amid the crowd's huge merriment,

Some crockery and things.

Then o'er the soft and downy cheek

Of many Annex maidens meek

There spread a ruddy glow;

And all the haughty Cambridge dames

Who came to look upon the flames

Thought they had better go,

And from this dreadful field of flames

They melted like the snow.

Our mourning maid of the Annex

Sought the protection of the Prex,

Who had to run to save his pate,

Endangered by the falling slate.

From room to room, on news intent,

Reporters of the Echo went.

And now, from out a window stole

The much-sought-after barber's pole,

And gave its thief away.

Thus ever long-concealed crime

Is ventilated in due time,

And brought to light of day.

Now from the fought-out fray 'gan call

The savors of Memorial Hall.

The Bursar wildly tore his hair,

And cried, "I've rooms to let in Thayer."

Men passed him, all intent;

To Adam's, Carl's, and Holly-tree,

Memorial, clubs, and lunches free,

Their hurrying steps they bent.

And often shall the Senior tell

How in December it befell,

Upon a dreary day,

The fire-fiend scorched old Stoughton well,

And burned its roof away.

W.