152 LETTER FROM AN OXFORD STUDENT TO HIS MAMMA. 



You told me on coming to college 



To dip into books and excel ; 

 Why the tradesmen themselves must acknowledge 

 % I've dipt into books pretty well. 



The advice you took pleasure in giving 



To direct me is sure to succeed, 



And I think you'll confess Tarn living 



With very great credit indeed. 



I wait on the Reverend Doctors, 



Whose friendship you told me to seek, 

 And as for the two learned proctors, 



They've called for me twice in a week. 



* 

 Indeed we've got intimate lately, 



And I seldom can pass down the street 

 But their kindness surprises me greatly, 



For they stop me whenever we meet. 



My classics, with all their old stories, 



I now very closely pursue, 

 And ne'er read the " Remedia Amoris" 



Without thinking, dear mother, of you. 



Of Virgil I've more than a smatter, 

 And Horace I've nearly by heart, 

 But though fam'd for his smartness and satire, 

 He's not quite so easy as Smart. 



English bards I admire every tittle, 



And dote upon practical lore, 

 And, though yet I have studied but Little , 



I hope to be master of Moore. 



You'll see from the nonsense I've written, 

 That my Devils are none of the Blues, 



That I'm playful and gay as a kitten, 

 And nearly as fond of the Muse. 



Bright puns (oh how crossly you'll bear 'em) 



I scatter, while logic I cram, 

 For Euclid and puns asinorum, 



We leave to the Johnians of Cam. 



My pony, in spite of my chidings, 



Is as skittish and shy as can be, 

 Not Yorkshire, with all her three ridings, 



Is half such a shier as he. 



I wish he was stronger and larger, 

 For in truth I must certainly own 



He is far the most moderate charger, 



In this land of high chargers I've known. 



