Mayhap, it was the dreary weather and the drafty atmosphere atop Memorial Hall that saddened the Vagabond last night. Moving day comes the first of May, he recalled and by then Spring too would have come and there would be no sense in moving. Ah, the futility of it all, he mused.

And then he sat almost upright, bent, however, on a bagatelle of introspection. What was wrong with himself? Wasn't he a gentleman? True, he did not twist puppy-dog tails, but then he had no poise. And what is one without the other? quotha. No, he wasn't a gentleman.

The wind blew fitfully and the rain spattered with the same display of temperament. The Vagabond shivered audibly. There was something large and ominous, and supernatural, perhaps, in the aura. He imagined ghosts and skeletons, rattling bones.

The atmosphere breathed its spell upon him. This would never do! Death and the graveyard spun their eery way through the network of his brain. An owl screeched in the German Museum. His mind played pranks and he looked down the dismal stretches to the rain-swept pavement below. Suicide!

He dallied with the thought, tossing it around the corners of his room. And then, pinned up on his daily calendar, he espied a way out of it all. He had found balm for his fevered brain. And he breathed a prayer of fervent thanks to Professor Greenough. For today at 2 o'clock in Sever 11, the Professor would have the answer to his problems. How to be a gentleman, what were the spooks in the Vagabond's garret, and what was this life beyond the grave. Chesterfield, Horace Walpole, and Gray, would be the pinnacles of the hour. The Vagabond breathed his wonted sigh. Like Cowper's "John Gilpin" he had gone a bit too far.

TODAY

9 o'clock

Chopin Studies played by Mr. Ramsey, Music Building.

11 o'clock

"English Gothic Architecture", Professor Edgell, Fogg Large Lecture Room.

2 o'clock

"Chesterfield, Horace Walpole, Gray, Cowper", Professor Greenough, Sever 11.