Now are the wild, weird songs of night / Borne to us through the open lattices, / And wake us up in sore affright— / Some are cats and some are catesses. / — St. Paul Herald.

the transit of goods through a country

The Profs they lead a jolly life, jolly life, / They're free from every care and strife, care and strife. / They make the studes, poor studes fall into line; / I wish the Profs' soft snap were mine.

Take a whiff on me Take a whiff on me All you rounders, take a whiff on me Hey, hey, honey, take a whiff on me