Came dawn. And the Student Vagabond reached for his Encyclopedia, Shelley's "Works", and a cigarette. And then, helter skelter, he went roaming around the Yard in his cavalier pink robe de nuit searching the most delightful little lectures possible.

"I can", he said, beginning to notice the thawing ice as it crept along the romonesque proportions of his sole, approached the Gothic outlines of a toe, "I can make Carver and Ripley and all of the boys so happy by quoting . . .

"Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,

Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell

And the profit and loss."

And Tucker Murray will never forget the 'gulls': they are so Elizabethan!"

So he scooped up the prettiest little split infinitives, the cutest conceits, the most just positively gorgeous non sequiturs and took them all to John Harvard's statue to make him green with envy.

And then out of the stillness of the Cambridge dawn came a report of twelve well aimed guns fired by twelve well maimed seniors under command of their Generals, singing

"Some there are who may delight,

In this beggar, think him right,

Fondly read and trot to every blooming class.

Mix a lecture on old France

With that nonmenal of Kant's,

Give an apple to dear Kitty for a passe

But when April is ahead,