OUTSIDE.

NO, I don't room in the Yard. The wonder to me is that a single dormitory should have an occupant. All day long there is the tramping of fellow-students on the stairs, the slamming of doors, the outburst of what is called by courtesy music. Sometimes you hear a man call for "Tom" by the half-hour, as if Tom were some mighty heathen god. It must be pleasant, too, when the indefatigable athlete above you drops his Indian clubs with a yell that suggests the origin of the name applied to those useful articles, and begins to practise the last new step. I have heard that in some of the old buildings men frequently have to bring up coal and water from the lower regions, and I know perfectly well that most of the students are under the tyranny of Goodies, Pocos, and Janitors. It may not be generally known that a volume of miscellaneous essays which Leibnitz presented to the Library has been recently discovered in overhauling the department of fiction; in a short dissertation on "Evil," he explains that the condition of students in college buildings is the only thing that causes him to hesitate for a single moment in his theory of Sufficient Reason.

Now, I am a regular autocrat where I live. My room is heated by furnace; a bath-room is so handy that I rarely use it; I do not have to go to prayers; not a soul comes to see me; everything is kept in the best order; I can sing myself hoarse without disturbing any one; there is n't a proctor within hailing distance. I can sit here all day wrapped in that absolute quiet which is so essential to the production of the best lies. But I have society - plenty of it - when I feel sociable. I am sorry to say that most of the time I am as frigid as a frozen walrus; when, however, my nature craves a more genial atmosphere, all I have to do is to step downstairs, for there are always to be found Faith, Hope, and Charity, - my landlady's daughters. I shall not describe their beauty, for you would all come rushing down here. It will be enough to say that my friend Mr. Lafarge, the artist, surreptitiously introduced them into his painting of Apollo and the Graces; I refuse to say whom he took as the model of the Sun-God.

These girls think that I know everything; they call me "Mr. Tournville" when I am present, but when I am absent, "Frank." I like to watch them as they sit making tatting, or crocheting " fascinators"; they can talk just as well as though their hands were idle. I dont know about that Faith; it seems to me that she is just a little too quick in her retorts. She advises me to be a humorist - could sarcasm go further? But she doesn't know as much as she ought to, for she asked me one day whether the college course fitted me for the ministry. And little Hope came running to meet me the other day with the strange question, "Is n't Harvard the best college in the world, Mr. Tournville?" I suppose they had been quarrelling a little, for tear-drops glistened on Charity's long lashes. They're queer girls! I don't see why they should get excited on the education question. I 'm surprised, too, that they speak to me so spitefully about the "Annex;" I don't understand them.

I was beginning to get rather fond of Charity, but I'm afraid our friendship has cooled some what since the day she inquired if any of the students took all the electives.

F. A. T.