And so she waits with hope, yet fear,
The joy or sorrow of the year.
Ah, maid of passion, love, and hate,
Thy task is sad, for cruel fate
Hath naught in store for thee but pain.
You wait and watch and hope in vain,
0 lonely, sorrowing maids of Spain.
TWELVE o'clock, and I still sat before. the table chewing the
end of a penholder and occasionally running my fingers
through my hair in a vain effort to catch some tangible
ideas for my essay next day.
" Confound the essay anyway," I muttered " two pages of
algebra and six propositions in geometry to work out besides
an essay to write before chapel to-morrow; wonder what they
think we're made of! "
" Well, what's the matter now," asked a voice back of me.
I had supposed I was alone and the sudden interruption scared
away my wits entirely. Turning, I saw a young man occupying
my easy chair, his feet gracefully posed on the bureau top. He
appeared to be about two and twenty years old.
" Who—who are you ? " I stammered.
" Well, I'm a spirit now but was once a student like yoUrself,"
he answered, " but you haven't answered my question yet;
what's the trouble to-night ?
By this time I had somewhat recovered my wits. " Trouble
enough," I answered shortly, " algebra and geometry to dig out
besides an essay to write before chapel in the morning."
"An essay ? " he regarded me thoughtfully, " what subject ? "
" Story of college life," I groaned.
"0, is that all? You make a mountain out of a mole hill; just
write up a few pages from real life among the boys. You know
that old saw about truth being stranger than fiction."
"'That's all very well," I replied, " but suppose you don't
happen to be acquainted with the truth ? "
WHAT IS A DREAM
ot wse A
WAS IT A DREAM ?