THE MAN OF MARKS.

THERE is a type of man that must be well known to every one who has ever been long at Harvard, for if human nature is as unchangeable as the philosophers would have us believe, this type has had its representatives in every class, ay, in every section, since the founding of the old University.

I, who am recently arrived, have but lately become acquainted with such a representative; and he has appeared to me to be an evil outgrowth of the marking system, - in fact, a strong argument in favor of abolishing that system.

Are you curious to make his acquaintance? Then stroll with me across the Yard to University. There he stands at the head of the steps. It is not quite time for recitation, but he has come over early for a purpose all his own. He is reading the notices on the bulletin board, - a very strange thing to do, - while he waits for a victim. He looks innocent as he stands there, but it is the innocence of a spider that is waiting for a fly.

There comes an unsuspecting classmate. The spider is upon him. I know just what he will say. I have heard it often, and it has become amusing to me. Let us draw nearer.

"Got your Greek mark?" asks the Spider.

"Yes," replies the Fly.

"How much?"

"51. What was yours?"

"98," returns the gleeful Spider, while the sobered Fly goes to the recitation and sits it out in sadness. The day is spoiled for him. The instructor is slower than ever, the pull on the river will be dreary, the Memorial Hall dinner will be cold. Such is the misery that Spider causes daily.

Ah! Spider has caught sight of me, - he is coming; but I am a match for him. He will find a barbed hook hidden beneath the fair exterior of this fly.

"Hulloa!" says he.

"How do you do, sir," say I.

"Got your Greek mark?"

Like Mark Twain, I can tell a lie, but I will not, unless the provocation be severe, so I answer, "Yes."

"What did you get?"

My philosophical studies have given me a habit of generalizing. I got 31, but, owing to my preference for round numbers, I answer, "40."

Spider smiles, and waits good-naturedly for me to ask for his mark. But here is where I am superior to him. I am not going to ask for his mark. The silence becomes painful. At length Spider smiles again.

"Ah!" sighs he, "how I wish that I, too, might get a low mark; it's so popular, you know. I tried it this time, - I really did; but I got 98."

I have come to the conclusion that the marking system should be instantly abolished, and - What did you say? - grapes? That is very old, and, besides, I never did aspire to a lofty mark. Spider, who is chuckling at his triumph over me, is an unfeeling brute. His victory is not a fair one. He does not consider that while he has been grinding at that dull Greek, I have been enjoying some English classic that is none the less profitable because it will not add five per cent to my Greek mark. Indeed, if I should grind continually on my electives, I might score better marks; but at what a cost! What progress should I make in the much-vaunted "general culture"? I do not mean the culture that is obtained by lounging at Parker's, - a kind that is becoming obsolete, thank '78; but the culture that is given by a broad course of reading, - the reviews, of course; George Sand, of a warm afternoon; Schiller, of a cool one; Macaulay, when I am fresh; Irving, when I am weary; all capped by the inevitable Nation, in deference to which I form my opinions. These, together with my visits to the art galleries and an occasional evening in a drawing-room, - barter these for 80 per cent in Greek and the approbation of Spider? I cannot afford to do so. No! Let Spider spend all his evenings with Socrates and Plato, if he will. I am content to give a few of mine to some modern dramatist at the Museum, or to a little philosophy which might puzzle Socrates himself.

Popularity, did you say? Humbug! Spider is not unpopular because he gets high marks, but because he talks about them. Low marks do not hurt a fellow much, but high marks will do him good, if he is modest about them. But it is unkind to accuse me of truckling for popularity. I was talking about the system. Any system that breeds such fellows as Spider is an unmitigated evil.

Why do the Faculty uphold it? Because they fear the censure of Boston newspapers. I am going to write a letter to the Transcript immediately. If there is any one thing that Harvard College stands in awe of, that thing is a letter in the Boston Transcript. Verily, the press is mightier than - I had almost said, the President.

ION.