WHAT THE SENIOR SAID.

I WAS dining in Boston the other day. A Senior sat next to the lady of the house, and during the dinner she asked him how he felt at the prospect of his departure from Cambridge.

"Partly glad and partly sorry," replied Seventy-eight. "Cambridge is a pleasant little place, and so is - and I think Boston is delightful too. I have been fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of many charming people here, and for that reason shall be sorry to turn my back on this part of the world. But as far as college itself goes, I'm rather glad than otherwise to be through with it."

"Why!" said I, "but don't you think you will miss the fellows, particularly your classmates? And what do you say to college life? Don't you enjoy that?"

"I did once have such ideas," the Senior went on, just glancing at me, "but then, you know, Mrs. - , one outgrows such fancies by the end of his first or second year." Hereupon I collapsed, and remained silently listening to the following dialogue which sprang up, when the Senior continued:-

"Men often pretend to like college life, and to believe in it when they really think it a sham. I for one have grown thoroughly tired of this "college life," and I think four years at Harvard quite if not more than enough."

"You surprise me, Mr. H.; what do you mean by enough?"

"Well, in the first place there is more or less time wasted at college, and after four years of comparative idleness men ought to be willing to go somewhere and work. We get tired of being college `boys' all the while."

"In what sense do you say that time is wasted?" said our host at my left; "do you mean that you don't study, or that study is not a good investment for your time?"

"I mean both; somehow one can't study much at Cambridge; and, again, I don't believe that half of the courses can do me any good."

"Probably Mr. H. is speaking from his own experience," said a young lady, "and not of the opinion of his class as a whole."

"O no! I assure you that all my friends to whom I have spoken on the subject - and we often talk about it, since we can now look back over our course - agree unanimously in saying that they have had quite enough of the undergraduate life. They don't think that a longer stay here would be of any use."

"But some young men do remain and take postgraduate courses, do they not? There is young X., who did not graduate till he was twenty-three, and then spent a year or so in travel and study previous to entering the Law School. He can't be admitted to the bar till he is twenty-seven at least; and yet he don't seem to think he has been wasting his time. The young man whose room in Stoughton my nephew borrowed for his Class Day told me that he had got ninety-five per cent in his college course, and that he intended to study for a Ph. D. Besides, our neighbor Mrs. Beacon Street told me the other day that her son Harry, just after his last examinations, got permission from the Faculty to go back another year, in order to give a more thorough study to the work of the Freshman class. I think that shows the conscientious student."

"Yes," continued the young lady, "several gentlemen in '77 informed me that they did not consider the ordinary degree difficult enough, and so intended to spend another year in studying for something higher."

"Ah! but those you know are exceptional cases," said the Senior. "X. is one of those quiet fellows who never does anything but study. He positively seems to like it; and it is all very well for him, because his father is rich enough to let him study as long as he likes, and to give him a good place afterwards. Now I don't care particularly about studying forever, and besides, my father has given me distinctly to understand that it is about time I began to make my own bread-and-butter."

"Then, Mr. H., you are confessedly arguing from your own case. You don't deny that all time given to the development of your intellect is profitably spent?"

The Senior was evidently getting into deep water, so he hastened to change the subject.

"Perhaps you are right, after all," said he; "I agree with what you say, in theory at least, though I doubt if it will hold in practice. But then I may be taking my own circumstances and ideas on the subject as belonging to us all. I went to Harvard with the intention of doing fairly well, of getting what knowledge and experience I could conveniently in three or four years, and of finishing off my school education in a leisurely, gentlemanly way. I confess that my aim was not a high one, and therefore there is perhaps little wonder that my course does not seem entirely satisfactory. I have had a rather good time; but I am anxious now to go to some place where I shall feel that I am at least accomplishing something tangible, and where there will be something to call forth my ambition. If I speak as an individual, I think I can at least say that, if not a majority, at least quite a respectable portion, of my class agree with me in thinking that they are glad our course is so nearly over. By the by, have you seen the President's Report?"

Here the conversation wandered off to expenses, students' rooms, decorative art, and so on.

As I came out in the horse-car, I thought over this conversation, and especially over the Senior's Parthian shot. I wondered whether I had a much higher purpose in view than he confessed to, and if not, whether I should ever become so blase in regard to college life. It puzzled me most, however, to find out whether "quite a respectable portion" of the class would really be rather glad than otherwise to take their sheep-skins and walk away. I am not sure of the answer yet, but am still wondering.