WHAT a change it is to return from one's summer wanderings to the bustle and hurry of college life! Everything presents such a rude contrast to the things we had become accustomed to during the summer. In a week or two, to be sure, we have dropped into the old ruts, and are going along as smoothly as if we had never been away, but for the first few days everything seems strange.

In the morning, for instance, instead of enjoying a quiet sleep, and getting up at a reasonable hour, we are roused by the relentless Jones with his prayer-bell. There is no instrument of torture yet devised by man which can cause more misery than a loud bell rung early in the morning. It is especially disagreeable when one has been up late the night before at a political or temperance meeting. The pretext on which it is rung, too, is a frivolous one. If a man insists on going to prayers, he can surely be awakened without rousing all the victims of catarrh and general indisposition, who are unable to attend. Why should all of us be awakened at the same moment? John Stuart Mill says that uniformity is a bad thing. This prayer-bell must be given up; it crushes out all individuality, and is a barbarous relic of the past.

If it is unpleasant to be roused from a heavy sleep, how much more unpleasant is it to have to get up and go to prayers! Our own personal experience in this matter has not been very extensive, but we can easily imagine what it must be. We are happy to say that we made the acquaintance of a very gentlemanly physician this summer, who told us never to be out in the morning until after prayer-time. We promised to obey his instructions faithfully.

Memorial Hall is not like your table at home; there is no getting over that fact. The noise at first seems intolerable, but you soon get used to it and begin to make a good deal of it yourself. Instead of a neat maid to wait on you, a burly negro slams down your plate before you, and hurries off again. It is hard to realize at first that it is necessary to wait a considerable time before getting anything to eat, but you soon learn that it is indeed so. The superannuated turkeys and hens will doubtless be as numerous and excellent as ever. It seems cruel, however, to kill an animal that is so near a natural death by old age.

There are some pleasures, too, in the return to college. It is interesting to think that you are one class higher than you were last June, unless, indeed, you were so unfortunate as to be dropped. Voluntary recitations, also, will be very convenient, and will save the trouble of sending in so many petitions. It is interesting, too, to see others going through the same experiences which we have been through ourselves.

The Freshman is a study. Somehow everybody knows that he is a Freshman, although he is quite sure he has fold nobody. It has been well said of him that he is "among us, but not of us." He is in a probation or transition state, - in a sort of Purgatory, as it were. No soft electives or voluntary recitations for him, but instead of that a hard grind on his prescribed mathematics. Yet there is justice in all things; it is right that the Freshman should have three hours more of work than the Senior.

Observe the new - fledged Sophomore also. What a change since last June! He has had the whole summer to ruminate on his new honors, and is proud in the consciousness that there is some one below him now. He carries his cane with an easy grace, and looks down with unutterable contempt on the despised Freshman.

Well, we have all been Freshmen once, so we should look with kindness upon those who are now in that condition.

H. E.