Great Expectations of the House of Dock

IX generations down our line
The name of Dickory ran,
And everybody understood

'Twas part of heaven's plan,
That Dickory the seventh should be,
A very famous man.

Indeed, the fortune-tellers all

Declared 'twas heaven's design,
That Dickory the seventh should be

A something quite divine,

The flower of all the family,

The glory of the line.

The men kept talking at their work,

The women at their tea,

Of what a wondrous genius

This Dickory would be;

But how his wit would show itself
No two could quite agree.

Some looked to see upon the world
A mighty warrior rise,

And some a President, and some
A statesman high and wise,
And some a great discoverer
With telescopic eyes.

Some thought another Cicero
Would rouse the patriot's rage,

Some that a second Livius

Would paint the glowing page :
But no one doubted when he came
Would come the golden age.

What wonder then my grandsire's house

Was crowded night and day?

What wonder smiling faces came

And sad ones went away,
Until each night a funeral seemed,

Each morn a wedding gay?

They brought their daughters, young and old,

Oh, what a sight to see!

For some were very tall and fine,
And some were short and wee,
And some were very pale and lean,
Some fat as they could be.

Through what a gushing sea of love
My sire (who was no saint),
Now gambolled on from boy to man,-
Ah heaven, could I but paint!
But soon as I attempt the tale
It always makes me faint.

What wonder any maid were fain
To mother such a son,

Whose greatness was already fixed

Before the marriage done?

Of whom it might be said, even then.
Life's battle was half won?

And so they laid their siege at him
Who was to be my sire:

O Lord, what quarrels now ensued!
What sparks were fanned to fire!
The Thomsons could not see the Browns,
The Gardiners paled with fre.

The Fergusons denounced the Frys,
The Smiths defied the Pooles,
The haughty Henrys vowed the Jacks
Were but the Ames's tools;

The noble Bloods looked on and said, "Oh, what a pack of fools!"

And so month after month rolled on
The noisy ball of strife;
A hundred reputations failed,
Ten fortunes and one life,
Till finally the die was cast,-
My father chose a wife.

And now another year rolls round
Upon the house of Dock:
But what is this unwonted stir?

And what is all this talk?
Who runs so swift into the night?
'Tis after twelve o'clock.

Why is the mansion all alight?
Who knocks upon the door?
'Tis he who ran into the night,
And with him are two more:
One is the famous Doctor Searle,
The other, Dr. Gore.

I thought I heard a little groan,-
But no, it cannot be,

For look! within the study there
My grandsire full of glee,
Who even now in fancy trots

Young Dickory on his knee!

His face is beaming with delight,

His lips benignly curl,

When lo, with coat-tails flying straight,

In plunges Doctor Searle ;

He tries to speak, but only gasps

"MY GOD! IT IS A GIRL!”

-HENRY AMES BLOOD.

Minerva Medica

OOD Chairman, Brothers, Friends, and Guests,-all ye who come with praise

To honor for our ancient guild a life of blameless days,

If from the well-worn road of toil I step aside to find

A poet's roses for the wreath your kindly wishes bind,
Be certain that their fragrance types, amid your laurel leaves,
The gentle love a tender heart in duty's chaplet weaves.

I can't exactly set the date,-the Chairman he will know,—
But it was on a chilly night, some month or two ago.
Within, the back-log warmed my toes; without, the frozen rain,
Storm-driven by the angry wind, clashed on my window-pane.
I lit a pipe, stirred up the fire, and, dry with thirst for knowl-
edge,

Plunged headlong in an essay by a Fellow of the College.
But, sir, I've often seen of late that this especial thirst
Is not of all its varied forms the keenest nor the worst.
At all events, that gentleman-that pleasant College Fellow-
He must have been of all of us the juiciest and most mellow.
You ask his name, degree, and fame; you want to know that
rare man?

It wasn't you,-nor you,-nor you,-no, sir, 't was not the
Chairman!

For minutes ten I drank of him; quenched was my ardent thirst;

Another minute, and my veins with knowledge, sir, had burst; A moment more, my head fell back, my lazy eyelids closed, And on my lap that Fellow's book at equal peace reposed. Then I remember me the night that essay first was read,

And how we thought it couldn't all have come from one man's

head.

At nine the College heard a snore and saw the Chairman

start,

A snore as of an actor shy rehearsing for his part.

At ten, a shameless chorus around the hall had run,

The Chairman dreamed a feeble joke, and said the noes had

won.

At twelve the Treasurer fell asleep, the wakeful Censors slumbered,

The Secretary's minutes grew to hours quite unnumbered.
At six A. M. that Fellow paused, perchance a page to turn,
And up I got, and cried, "I move the College do adjourn!"
They didn't, sir; they sat all day. It made my flesh to creep.
All night they sat;—that couldn't be. Goodness! was I asleep?
Was I asleep? With less effect that Fellow might have tried
Codeia, Morphia, Urethan, Chloral, Paraldehyde.

In vain my servant called aloud, "Sir, here's a solemn letter
To say they want a song from you, for lack of some one better.
The Chairman says his man will wait, while you sit down and

write;

He says he's not in any haste, and make it something light;
He says you needn't vex yourself to try to be effulgent,
Because, he says, champagne enough will keep them all indul-
gent."

I slept at least I think I slept-an hour by estimation,
But if I slept, I must have had unconscious cerebration,
For on my desk, the morrow morn, I found this ordered verse;
Pray take it as you take your wife," for better or for worse."

A golden wedding: fifty earnest years

This spring-tide day from that do sadly part,
When, 'mid a learned throng, one shy, grave lad,
Half conscious, won the Mistress of our Art.

Still at his side the tranquil goddess stood,

Unseen of men, and claimed the student boy;
Touched with her cool, sweet lips his ruddy cheek,
And bade him follow her through grief and joy.

"Be mine," she whispered in his startled ear,
Be mine today, as Paré once was mine;
Like Hunter mine, and all who nobly won

The fadeless honors of that shining line.