AMONG Bostonians a student passes for about what he is worth; at any rate, he gains nothing from merely being a student. This may be due to the fact that Boston, from having seen so many students in her day, has fathomed their nature; yet we are cautious in assigning this reason, for Boston is not like other towns, and perhaps would be able to judge without experience. But starting from this place, the student of Harvard finds that the consideration which he receives increases in proportion to the number of miles which separate him from his point of departure; and, with this increase of consideration, he also observes that there springs up an exaggerated notion of the life he leads at college.

There are two reasons why this notion should exist, the first of which arises, through no fault of the students themselves, from a liking in other persons for contrast. This love of contrast is shown in the disposition which makes ministers' sons and deacons' daughters stand as types of youthful waywardness; while, in fact, these persons form the most unassuming portion of creation. So with the name of student, - many would be glad to make it synonymous with its antipodes.

The second, and by far stronger, reason why people overestimate the jollity and dash of Cambridge life, is the fact that students themselves often indulge in descriptions of such marvellous adventures of the Freshman and Sophomore years that the credulous are struck with admiration and the timid with fear. An instance of this was brought to our notice last summer while visiting at a little country town in Pennsylvania, where, at a single evening gathering, we obtained more information about college jokes and scrapes than had come to us during a two years' previous residence at Cambridge. The reason of this was, that, shortly before our arrival, a respected classmate had shot, comet-like, into the society of this town, brightened it for a week with a thousand college tales, in which he generally appeared as hero, and finally departed, leaving the minds of the natives thoroughly illuminated by his train of fabrications. On hearing the name of this gallant scion of Harvard, we succeeded in recollecting a very quiet, unobtrusive fellow, who, while at Cambridge, spends his nights in grinding, and during the day varies the monotony of attending recitations by the same delectable employment. If this be the talk of quiet undergraduates, it is reasonable to suppose that the more demonstrative take a step farther, which brings them at once to the point reached long ago by the author of "Fair Harvard." What wonder that, beyond the vicinity of Boston, a college room is never thought of without the accessories of a cloud of tobacco-smoke, the remains of a dozen of champagne, and a crowd of students in the hilarious prosecution of a frolic?

However pleasing it may be to some of us to carry the reputation of being jolly dogs, etc., yet the above picture symbolizes the characteristics of a very small set of each class, - a set which grows smaller as the class grows older. The majority of students do not deserve the name they have abroad. As a rule they are earnest in their studies, thoughtful and devoted, fully conscious of the advantages presented by their Alma Mater, and determined to make the most of them. But although this is the case, in order to obtain justice from others, we must first do justice to ourselves by refraining from continually misrepresenting our own cases.