cacies in vogue among children, from pickles to chocolate creams. The other window was adorned with a variety of articles, varying with the season, now valentines, now Easter-eggs, now marbles, "jacks," bouncing-balls, whistles, and other ingenious playthings. Mrs. Schnell always had what the children wanted.

"Old Mother" Schnell (thus the O. M. was interpreted) was a comfortable, middle-aged German woman. Her red silk handkerchief, the little gold rings in her ears—to ward off rheumatism-and her never-to-be-finished knitting were ample assurance of that. She was the figure-head of the place, always to be found at the front window, motionless, except for her busy fingers, and content. When the shop bell announced the entrance of some little customer, a shrill, stentorian voice would rise from the depths of the figure-head, calling, "Henr-r-y! Henrr-r-r-ry!" and pale, hunch-backed Henry would appear from behind the curtain at the back of the shop. As customers increased, the cry would go forth," Henr-r-r-r-i et-ta! Henr-r-r-i-et-ta!" and pretty, rosy Henrietta would appear from behind the same mysterious screen. But when the little shop became crowded, as often happened, slowly the ponderous figure-head would rise from its creaking chair and appease the clamorous little buyers with a despatch which exceeded even that of business-like Henry and nimble-fingered Henrietta.

Mother Schnell and her children were a wonderfully happy family, perfectly devoted to one another and desiring no outside friends. Their lives, simple and dull as they were, sufficed for them. They earned enough to support themselves and desired nothing more. They made no pretentions to gentility but really possessed far more of it than most of their neighbors. They made no show of piety, but understood the word charity and always had a kind word and pleasant smile for everyone. A hungry little damsel often found a cake too many in her bag, a small boy often discovered that his assiduously

saved pennies just equaled the price of some long-desired toy, a wistful little face pressed against the window often brightened at a beck from Mother Schnell's fat finger, a beck known to be the forerunner of some tempting gift. But if caught in any of these acts or accused of them, Mother Schnell would fly into a rage and scold the accuser until he was glad to retreat.

The second floor was occupied by a salesman in a large retail dry-goods store and his wife, who considered themselves the aristocracy of the neighborhood; and the third, by two humble dressmakers. But these people are like thousands of others in the great city, and with them we have nothing to do.

The top flat was a cheerful abode, high, indeed, but cool, airy and sunny. The windows were bowers of green, summer and winter, and a cheerful canary-bird sang gaily among the flowers. The interior was furnished. after the fashion of a past generation. There was a huge chest of drawers, a tall, old-fashioned clock, shabby but comfortable easy chairs, old family portraits in oval frames on the walls, several shelves of books, and, in a corner, an asthmatic old house-organ.

The inhabitants of this flat were a little old gentleman and his wife. They had seen better days when old "Charley" Reese had been in business for himself; but through dishonest creditors he had lost all he had, and in his old age was forced to begin over again as an agent for a new brand of shirt. He never bewailed his lot, but accepted it with perfect cheerfulness. He was a brisk, bright-eyed little man with a sparrow-like way of perking his head on one side. As he hopped about, day after day, his almost childlike simplicity and sincerity won for him more customers than did his eloquent arguments on the superior quality of his goods.

If the little old man may be compared to a sparrow, his wife surely resembled an eagle. Her tall figure, imposing in spite of the fact that she was slightly hunch

backed, her sharp features, and aquiline nose, were the outward signs of a nature born to rule. Supreme, absolute monarch, she was, indeed, in that small household, and by her sturdy common sense she often checked and steadied her husband's wild flights of enthusiasm. For the rest, she was talkative, an inveterate gossip, and a voracious novel-reader.

It was pleasant to see the husband and wife sitting by their cheerful lamp, she, with her novel, or, especially in late years, her knitting, and he with his newspapers and his beloved books, among which were always to be found his two favorites, a "History of Prussia," and Lydia Maria Child's Progress of Religious Ideas." Late in the evening he would always say, "Sally, can't you give us some music?" And she would go to the organ and play the dear, old, familiar " Gospel Hymns." Then he would reverently take down the Family Bible, in which were recorded the births and deaths of their children, and often with tear-dimmed spectacles would read aloud from the Message which never grows old.

The editor sat in the luxuriously appointed sanctum and mused, "All things, even the most delightful, have an end. It is a sad thought that never again shall we have the privilege of choosing the gems which are to constitute our department from the huge pile of contributions poured in upon us every month. How melancholy to reflect that never again will the productions of our own genius, in the editorial department, be read with eager and admiring interest! In short, how mournful. are our feelings when called upon to relinquish our guardianship of the MISCELLANY!"

This is how it was:

The editor heaved a sigh of relief, and remarked in weary tones, "Our last editorial! Never again shall we wander through the college imploring people to write for us. Never again shall we grow pale and wan toward the first of the month with ransacking our thoughts for an editorial subject. Never again shall we be reduced to the necessity of writing pages of rambling observations without a single central idea, and calling the production an editorial. What a burden is lifted from us now that our last MISCELLANY has made its appearance!"

And yet, even though some such thoughts as these are in our minds as we send out our last number,—with all our sense of relief comes the inevitable "sadness that attends the finished task." Not that we regret giving up our MISCELLANY, for we give it into good hands, and its future looks very bright to us; but the relinquishment of this responsibility means the beginning of the end.

Guard the MISCELLANY well, oh Ninety-Two, as you hope to guard well the other trusts we shall deliver to

your keeping so soon. as we have tried to do, than we have done in we love.

Give to it nothing but your best, and may you succeed far better making it worthy of the college

Would it indeed be a great indiscretion at this season, with Easter only two weeks in the future, to venture upon the subject of honors, that subject which renews. annually its interest if not its youth? Perhaps a variation on the old theme would be tolerated if one gave assurance at the outset that it was not to be a polemic against the system.

The deteriorating effects of the system upon character and scholarship have often been urged and with much eloquence. Granting it to be an evil, one might reasonably expect to find a reaction in the Senior Class after the announcement of honors and might hope to see a general rise in moral and intellectual standards. Yet we are much chagrined to say that exactly the reverse of what might be expected has sometimes been observed.

But waiving these questions let us consider the possible effect upon us when we are forced to compare the measures we have been taking of ourselves for the past four years with those so carefully taken by our professors. The failure in the results to tally is almost universal, as every one, however reluctantly she may acknowledge it, even to herself, has a lurking suspicion that her name will be found among-" The Remnant."

Now how shall this discrepancy between the estimates of our abilities and acquirements influence us, and can we turn even this to advantage? Those blessed with the philosophic spirit will doubtless settle back with the complacent sense of "having done the best we could" with a few talents. Perhaps defective preparation will serve conveniently as a scape-goat for a few of their shortcomings. Others of the same tendency of mind will find ready substitutes for honors in social success and in