affairs to lament and shed tears over the loss of a
college associate of over a quarter of a century
past, with whom, in the meantime, but very limi
ted intercourse has occurred, can we not set a
higher estimate on college life and associations?
Can we not imagine ourselves thirty-five years
from now, stepping down from our place of busi
ness for a day's enjoyment with an old college
friend? And then, in the same connection, can
we not think how much more pleasant that greet
ing will be, how much kinder the regenerated vis
ion of old days will appear, if we haveavmded all
those little variances, harsh words, and unkind
jeers?
Irving said, "Absence, like death, sets a seal on
the images of those we have loved; we cannot
realize the intervening changes which time may
have effected."
And we shall not wish to comprehend the revol
ution which a,),e may have wrought. We are prone
to wish that however far time may have elapsed or
whatever inroads she may have made on her slaves,
mulkityl, the old men in years to come may meet
the boys of long years ago with the grip and friend
ship of the youth of college days.
"Yes, we're boys; always playing with tongue and with
pen;
Sometimes have asked shall we ever be mon ?
Shall we always be smiling and laughing and gay ?
'Till the last dear companion drone smiling away ?
Then here's to onr boyhood its gold and its gray,
The stars outs winter and dews or its May,
And Inn we ere done with these lifelast lag toys,
Dear Father take cam ,of thy children—the boys,"
k.
FROM THE CANNON'S MOUTH
He was a tall, learned looking fellow at the
time our story opens and just entering upon his
senior year at college. His whole appearance
was that of a decided man of the world.. A lithe
graceful figure supporting a head that would have
become a Webster, so broad the forehead and so
artistic the dark flowing curls, a dark cutaway coat,
checkered trousers, a red tie and a pair of
eyeglasses which gave him a decidedly distingue
air and you have a picture of our hero.
An oracle of wisdom and a walking copy of
LANCE.
THE FRE
Puck for wit,was it a wonder that Frederick N. Ches
ter was the most rrresistacle man in college,
the admired of all the ladies around and even
one three miles away. His marvelous knowl•
edge of the English language, coupled with a
power of using a great variety of expressions,
made him a conversationalist of the most
brilliant type. • Freshmen flocked around
him with admiring eyes to catch the pearls that
fell from his lips; sophomores considered it an
honor to be seen walking in his company; juniors
loved him; seniors adored him, Was it a wonder
then that, on that bright day in September when
our tale opens, he strolled across the campus with a
self-satisfied air? The very birds seemed to sing
louder as he approached while the leaves of the
maples that lined the avenue drooped in his honor.
As he approached the office he began to quicken
his steps. Was it strange? No. For in his
box there lay waiting for him a letter in a small
angular hand which caused his pulse to beat quicker•
every time he saw it. It was just four months
since he had met Maggie Murphy and in that time
he had completely lost his heart. Other girls no
longer had any attraction for him. He could be
polite to thcm and amuse them with his wit, but
love them—never. With a trembling hand he
opened his box, draw forth a small envelope
and tore off the seal. The next instant he feebly
clutched the writing desk and loudly gasped for
breath. He who a moment before had been a cold
suave man of the world now became as other men,
afflicted with sorrow.
Over and over he read the few hues written by
a hand so dear to him. They ran thus:
"My ileareetJoe:—((LlB her petmaine (~r him)
Aly mother has forbidden me ever to
write or speak t) you again for un
known reasons. We sail (or Europe
t )-morrow. Farewell,
111nootn Munenv."
He shed one tear of the size of an oyster cracker
and then straightened up and became himself once
" eris very, very hard," he !buttered, "but I'll