AFTER a meeting of the Athletic Association on Jarvis Field the various incidents that happened, the demeanor of the athletes, their feats of strength and agility, - these are all duly recorded. Very seldom, however, do we see in the Advocate or Crimson any account of what has happened at the athletic exercises of a different kind, - I mean those that take place every day in University; the programme of which may be found in the tabular view, the prizes of which are such worthless things as high marks, deturs, etc. Since, however, the attainment of any excellence in this latter kind of exercise is not (as some falsely maintain) the chief reason for which we come to college, but an entirely secondary matter, it is quite natural that they should be passed over as unworthy of attention. The audience, too, on Jarvis Field is generally large and enthusiastic, and encourages the weary limbs of the contestants by frequent applause. Sometimes in University there is no audience; sometimes there is a small one in the shape of a venerable old gentleman, with those accompaniments which are supposed to belong to one of the old school, - gold-headed cane, gold spectacles, polished forehead, etc. He is rarely openly enthusiastic, and is never wildly demonstrative. His emotions of pleasure and disgust he generally keeps to himself. Occasionally you may see a cynical smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. But he seldom follows the text of the book which he holds in his hand, for in the intervals between his naps he amuses himself by studying character in the faces before him; picturing to himself so many future Emersons, Sumners, etc. He is never inspiring, - this typical member of an Examining Committee.

If I am not usurping the right of the author of "Letters to a Freshman," I shall here offer a piece of advice to the receptive minds of the members of that class. Gentle Freshman, be not afraid of the examiner, for he is not as terrible as he looks. You know that you will not be called up in your Greek to-day, for it was only yesterday that you made such frightful work of it. Brown, Smith, and Jones - specimen bricks, pride of the instructor's heart, who have read up all their Grote - will be the unlucky ones.

In any division in which you recite you may divide the men into two comprehensive classes, - men who study, and men who don't. Both have their good points and their bad ones. But by all means the most tiresome person is the man who asks questions. Twenty times in the hour he will call out, "Mr. -, I don't see how two and two make four," or, "Please explain the passage on page 63, fifth line from the top." He is entirely regardless of the feelings either of his classmates or of the instructor, whom he interrupts without compunction. One would think that the number of times his advances have been but coldly received would have taught him to be wise, but he minds not repulse, - Merses profundo, pulchrior evenit.

Then there is the man who tries to be funny and fails. Generally he is disposed of quickly, and, if be is not a hardened sinner, his self-complacency is somewhat disturbed. In one of my divisions there is a man wonderfully deliberate and methodical. He is blessed with great length of limb, so that it takes him some time to stretch out. At the moment his right foot is over the bench he begins, and then (with his hands in his coat-tail pockets) he keeps on in a very measured and confident tone, pausing for breath between each word. He makes translating Latin at sight his specialty. We all know, too, the man who parades his knowledge by prompting you at a place which you know fully as well as he does. He is only a little less provoking than the man who will not prompt you when you want him to.

But to enumerate all the characters that adorn our recitation-rooms would be a task of enormous length. To do justice to them all, I should have to publish several octavo volumes.

C.