gone; Bare legg'd and feet, I ran in street, My shirt my sole attire, The women laughed, and the men they chaff'd, While I kept bawling, "Fire!" By some good chance I reached my home, Half dead with shame and fright, And all that saw me and all that knew me, Said, "Spoony, served him right." But the worst wasn't past, oh, it came at last, I thought I should expire, Say what you will I was very ill, And the doctor said 'twas fire! So all you good gentlemen, Who a courting have not been, Be advised by me, don't foolish be, By all I have done and seen. Don't miss your ways on market days, Or stand things to admire, But avoid back slums, and female chums, And don't go catching fire. A well-written tight little parody. Hope it gets sung again some time. In the OBERLIN STUDENT'S MONTHLY for Dec. 1858, an I. Allen has written the second (?) article devoted to "Songs of the Sailor." It is remarkably reflective. Here are excerpts. And then, on the still morning air, there comes floating to you, mellowed by the distance, the sailor's work song, keeping time to the monotonous "click, click'' of the windlass pawls, as the anchor comes slowly up: "We've a bully slop and a bully crew, Heigho, heave and go; We've a bully mate and a captain too; Heigho, heave and go.'' That monotonous chorus is just as essential to the proper working of the