IT was my second visit to Memorial Hall. My first was made in the early summer, when I spent those three days of agony there, - those days when the tables were laid, hour after hour, with a never-failing supply of blue-books.

Now, however, they were laid with a different food, and I was coming upon a different errand. I was haunted by a suspicion that board at a club was not quite worth while; I had heard that the Memorial tables were not so black as they were painted, after all; and I had come to see for myself if they really had celery and table-cloths.

It was the dinner hour. I sauntered through the dim hall, and read the names upon the tablets. Free from the anxiety which had made me oblivious to all the beauties of the building upon my first visit, I was now in a mood to feel the deepest patriotism. But when I found myself regretting that I too had not graduated in time to fall at Gettysburg, I thought it best to interrupt that train of thought, and so I hurried up the dark stairway to the gallery.

"It is pleasant," I said to myself, as I looked down upon the scene below. "I think I can give up tough dinde aux truffes for this beef, which must be good judging from the way in which that classmate of mine is devouring it. There is a charm in a hall like this; and the worthies who look down upon one from the walls are inspiring, - all of them, from the driest, pickled old Puritan, to the gallant young Colonel who fell at Wagner. There is richness in that gorgeous window, - but stop! the national bird done in colored glass, and holding his wings like a fowl in distress, is decidedly out of place there, if a Freshman might venture an opinion; he should have been all blue glass. Patriotic emblems are excellent in their proper place, but they should not be mingled with the tracery of a mediaeval architecture. Would it not have been better if the whole window had been a Goddess of Liberty, lightly clad in the star-spangled banner?"

My meditations were interrupted by the sobs of a tall, awkward gentleman at my side.

"Pardon my emotion," said he; "but look down upon this brilliant assembly, - gaze upon the youth and beauty gathered here."

I gazed, and ventured the opinion that there was rather more youth than beauty.

"Reflect," continued he, "that one hundred years from now all this genius will have passed away; reflect that others will then feast and make merry here. Think of it, and then - then weep, like Xerxes and me. Yes," sobbed he, putting on his hat, "when we think - "

The sentence was never finished. The youth and beauty made manifest their present animation, whatever may be their condition a hundred years hence. My gloomy friend realized the situation, removed his hat, and wept no more.

This proceeding, then, was one of the customs of the Memorial boarders! Is it gentlemanly, when a person is guilty of a breach of decorum, to inform him of his error by becoming guilty likewise? "No," said I, "I will stick by the club." And I fell into a gloomy mood, induced more by the thought of the present depravity of the youth and beauty than by any regret for their future fate.

I became so absorbed in the contemplation of this depravity that I did not notice a new arrival in the gallery. At last the upturned faces of the men below made me aware that there was something of interest there besides myself. I looked around, and lo! a party of ladies were taking seats. Was this a feature of the entertainment? "Not so bad," thought I; "they must look pretty from below. A very pleasant entree for one's dinner; very, to be sure. I will leave the club."

By the Farnesian Hercules! they were taking out opera-glasses, - they were indeed! I knew that some of the fair sex had carried telescopes to the Globe to spy Rignold, but this, - this was an innovation.

You say, Miss, that the leading characteristic of the student is conceit. I grant it. But if you have ever taken an opera-glass into Memorial Hall gallery, do not make the accusation again. When a man becomes accustomed to being watched while at his meals, he is soon ready to believe that every glass is levelled at him.

And yet - I think I shall go to Memorial, and go with my opera-glass, too.

ION.