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?"