campus with our shields borne aloft, and making a procession altogether lively and picturesque, and which drew a crowded audience of applauding students and laborers.

A description of the various shields would be very interesting. Some were made of boards, and others of thick paper, cut into circular forms three feet in diameter, upon which were pasted, or drawn, all sorts of pictures, in similarity as far removed from the pictures on the original shield as they could be. Some were pleasant to look upon, while others were as homely as a certain "Syrian female, who couldn't smile after ten o'clock Saturday without breaking the Sabbath." The Professor was so much pleased and surprised with the fine results of our patient toil and painstaking that he expressed a desire to retain one of the shields as a memento of the event. This, of course, was readily granted, and a selected shield was subsequently presented him with all due form and ceremony. Curious visitors to the College may now behold this shield hanging over the Professor's library door.

It was while we were Sophomores that somebody carried out all of our benches from the Chapel, and chalked on the floor, in large letters, the motto of our class,-"Let us accomplish whatever we commence."

This deed was done in the night, and whoever did it wanted to impress the minds of the College with the idea that our class was the guilty party. The Seniors had passed their final examinations, and consequently were free from chapel attendance; so when we discovered in the morning that our benches were gone we concluded to occupy those of the Senior Class.

As the bell was ringing for chapel we marched in and took our seats just in time to head off the Juniors who were wildly rushing for the same goal. This did not accord with their ideas of right, so they refused to come into chapel until we should vacate the Senior benches.

We, being a very peaceable and well disposed class, finally yielded to the solicitations of one of the Professors, and vacated. the uncomfortable Senior benches, occupying in their stead some nice yellow chairs which the Janitor and one of the Professors, assisted by the Juniors, had brought in. The injured class then marched meekly in and took their own seats, seemingly conscious that they had just performed a noble act.

With the end of the

Sophomore year came the end of easy times, easy work, etc. Junior year saw us launched fully into the midst of hard work. Work, which, though hard, was as a general thing pleasant, and confined to studies of a somewhat different character from those attended to during the first two years. Our most interesting studies were "the Constitution of the United States," Milton's "Paradise Lost" and Shakespeare's "Julius Cæsar;" and connected with these was the writing of essays almost innumerable. We also studied this year "The Mother Tongue of the English," and were fortunate enough to have the honor of being the first students to use March's "Grammar of the Anglo-Saxon," which had just been issued.

In this latter study, as well as in the aforementioned ones, it was our privilege to enjoy the instruction of a Professor to whose great worth the class of '71, with many former classes, contributes its share of honor and respect. But perhaps the hardest, and to some the most distasteful, study of the year was the mathematics. We were led very far into the interesting mysteries of Natural Philosophy by our Professor, who, by his lucid explanations, and the aid of an elegant and extensive philosophical apparatus, smoothed the path, and made the subject very clear. And yet we had a good many men, who, notwithstanding all the labor, were unfortunate enough to fizzle. But all had good excuses for their ill luck, one remarking, in all earnestness, that he thought the reason he fizzled in mathematics was because he had got off so many sharp things on the Professor during the session that he could not reply to. Nothing else of historical interest occurred during this year, except that we took the preliminary steps for starting, on a successful career, the Lafayette Monthly.

Time sped away, and at last we reached the Senior year. Often had we longed for this, and for the easy times supposed to be inseparably connected with it. But after a few weeks of stern reality the visions of a Senior's life of ease and idleness all vanished, and we wondered how any one could be so base as to tell such stories as had been told us, of the quiet, indolent, and gentlemanly life of the Senior.

Our last year-excepting a part of the last session-has been mostly a year of work. We studied Astronomy, and learned all about the obliquity of the ecliptic; how to convert

geocentric latitude into heliocentric; and how to ascertain the height of a lunar mountain, which is done by multiplying onehalf the height by two. A large number of the class studied Hebrew one session, but the next session there was only "a miserable remnant of six." We studied selections from the poetry of Burns, and were much interested in them; Burns being the author upon whom the essays for the Fowler prize were written. In the contest for this prize the interested parties toiled hard and long, and one of them bought tea and sugar to use to keep himself awake while prosecuting labors. which often continued long after "the iron tongue of midnight" had tolled.

Our Senior year might properly have been denominated "the year of Metaphysics," for we had plenty of them, and we were all charmed with their beauties, and wished for more of them (that is, of the beauties).

Most all of our studies were recited in the old Chapel, and we always seemed inspired, and endowed with delightful memories when we recited there; consequently our flunks and fizzles were few and far between. There was one exercise, however, which took place weekly in the Chapel during the last session, in which some of our men were afraid to trust to their "delightful memories," so when Saturday came around they got leave of absence from town to go to Bethlehem to get their pictures taken, and were very sorry that they couldn't be present at our extemporaneous debates. As offsets to our intellectual and scholastic labors we frequently indulged in innocent recreations. Once during the winter, about twenty of us took a sleigh-ride to Bethlehem, and this excursion gave us a good example of the truth of the adage

"'Tis ever common,

That men are merriest when they are from home."

There occurred one thing, however, that tended to destroy somewhat our equanimity and pleasure. We made extensive preparations to visit the Female Seminary before we left town, and give the fair inmates a serenade. But we were doomed to disappointment, for our driver, instead of taking us to the place, as directed, started with us for Easton, and before we knew it we were a mile or more from the Seminary. We expostulated

nd threatened to no purpose, for we could not make the man turn back. Our ride home that night was dreary, and I am afraid that this history is becoming so too, so we will hasten to an end. We of Seventy-one are now about finishing what seemed to us, four years ago, a long and tedious course, but which now seems as though it has been a very short and pleasant one.

But can we all say that we are, and that the College will be, the better for our having been here? If so, and I think we can, it is well. There may be some of us who are disappointed because we are not graduating with honors, or with as high a grade of scholarship as we expected. Do not let us feed upon the disappointment, but acknowledging that

"A greater Power than we can contradict

Hath thwarted our intents,"

let us go out into the world with happy and honest hearts, and pursue our chosen professions with a resolve either "to do or to die," "to pass or to fizzle."

POEM.

JOHN SCOLLAY.

The sun was resting in his Western caves;
His daily routine had he boldly run
To where the wide Pacific rolls its waves,
To mingle with the dashing Oregon :

Four hours the earth had mourned his absent flight,
And quiet marked the melancholy hours of night;

Save in thronged cities, where the show of life
Gave evidence that midnight was not passed,
Or even in hamlets where a duller strife
Leaves human kind as equally harassed.-
The moon in vain rose up to fill his place,
Feeble her light shed through the dusky space.

Yet still her efforts were not wholly vain.

Where swarming masses thronged their dull abodes
Small rest she hindered; but the rustic swain
Roamed languishingly o'er the country roads,
Viewing with dull content each blooming field
That promised plentifully autumn's yield.

'Twas such a night as when the silent stars
Disdain their sittings in the vault above,
But, dancing, glitter through their heavenly bars,
Longing upon the pleasant earth to rove,—

And some even left their bounds with lightning flight,
And strewed their fragments through the startled night.

The bleating sheep no longer roam the wold;
No lowing herd is active on the hills:
The former, pent secure within the fold
By careful owners, fear no canine ills;
The latter in contentment ruminate,
And, as such cattle ought, slow meditate.

At such an hour the mind is strangely fraught
With musings that at day would seem absurd,
And ne'er are uttered by th' urbanely taught,
No matter how perturbedly his soul is stirred.

Such nonsense must, at hazards, be repressed,
Nor should-except with cautious mouthing-be expressed.

Yet 'tis permitted that the bard should say

What holds his mind, as seizes him the whim, Whether he dream by night, or sober day

Recall its dull realities to him,

In worded rhyme his ravings are relieved,

Whether in scorn derided or with meet applause received.

But he, who, when the mystic shades of night
Invest this mundane sphere in black attire,
Would through ethereal blue exalt his flight,
Or wake the music of his bashful lyre,

Must utter thoughts the sober light of day
Dispels, and flings unfeelingly away.

Ah, many a student oft within his room,

When thickest darkness holds the night supreme,
With midnight lamp dispels the rising gloom,
And hugs with fond delight each waking dream;
He seeks no campus where the moonlight shines,
To rouse his frenzy or inspire his lines.

Nor yet along the river's bank he roves,
Winding so peacefully among the hills;
Nor seeks the fairy glades within the groves,
Arcadian valleys or old ruined mills:

Progressive nature marks her course on these,
But fails at every point his human mind to please.