masculine voices down stairs, and the clinking of glasses. Jerry was evidently trying to explain things.

Inside, Martha was by-lowing both babies to sleep, but she paused as Nancy's pretty head looked in at the door.

"Martha," said Nancy, "I've kept my word. I have found a situation."

Martha groaned.

"I am exceedingly sorry to hear it," she said. "Oh, Nancy, how could you! May I ask what you are going to do?"

"I'm going to keep house," said Nancy.

"To keep house!" said Martha, divided between perplexity and tears. "To keep house! For whom?"

"For Mr. Jeremiah Dennison," said Nancy.

ELSIE JOSEPHINE ROSENBERG.

WHEN I BLOW OUT THE LIGHT

When everything is ready

For me to git in' bed,

When I have read my verses

And when my prayers are said,
Then comes the awful moment
That fills me with affright,

When I must screw my courage up
For blowin' out the light.

At first I step up boldly

As though I didn't care,

Although I have been dreading it

Since coming up the stair.

It seems to me I never feel

The horrors of the night

As when the time is drawing nigh
For blowin' out the light.

I turn it down a little,

And then it comes to me
That I have really quite forgot
To peep around and see,
Behind the bed and bureau,
If everything is right
As of course I ought to do

'Fore blowin' out the light.

I look around all creepy like

But don't see anything, So I think I'll go to bed,

And I begin to sing,

Or else I whistle something

Just hard with all my might, But nothing seems to help me much 'Bout blowin' out the light.

I turn it down, then up again,
With very just alarm ;

It seems to me an iron hand
Is going to grasp my arm,
And 1 glance around expecting
To see some awful sight,
And Oh, I am so thankful
That I have got the light!

Then all at once the light goes out
And O, that scares me so!

For I really only meant

To turn it down quite low,

And then see what would happen-
That I might serve them right
And catch them in some evil act
By turning up the light.

But now I give a desperate jump

To get into my bed

Before some hand can reach around

And grab me by the leg,

And I duck my head down under

Very quickly out of sight,

For you don't know what may happen

When you've blown out the light.

Sometimes I think of heaven

Where all is bright and fair,

And I tell you I do envy

The angel-fellers there,

For if the preacher has it straight

And all is shining-like and bright,

Folks can go to bed in peace

And not blow out the light.

NELLIE BARNEY SERGENT.

EDITORIAL

The Spirit of Spring is in the air-that indefinable something that conjures up as from the earth innumerable small boys and marbles, and a little later, tops to be spun against the offending legs of the passers-by. No less regular than the small boys and the marbles are the senior sentiments which begin to be rife and which (we doubt not) afflict the minds of those who are exploiting them no less than the tops do all disinterested ankles. These senior sentiments cluster around two points of view, "What am I going to do without college ?" and "What is college going to do without me?" This last is undoubtedly far more pathetic. It is like the dream where the dreamer witnesses his own death and weeps salt tears over the despair of his family.

It seems strange that the first warm day should be the chosen messenger to two hundred and thirty-nine persons in the region of twenty that, from the college point of view, they have reached a ripe old age. A few sophomores may be willing to listen to their theory as to how the universe should be conducted, but the juniors in their year of psychological preoccupation have decided that they are all empiricists, and can hardly wait for the chance to experiment for themselves. It is theirs to step into the places of control held by the outgoing class and hold the reins of the college for the year to come. With apparent meekness they listen to the counsels of their predecessors, but at the same time they wonder where that glance of authority has gone and what has become of all the lustre that has vanished with the gold lace and brass buttons of office. True the pomp and ceremony of Commencement week lends a parting glory to even the humblest members of the senior class. If they can no longer be useful they can at least be ornamental as the juniors usher them out of existence-a poor consolation surely, but one which even college does not educate out of the feminine heart.

There are a certain number of phrases used to excite senior sentiment, not unlike those in Lenten directions-"Considerations to excite contrition". Apply to a susceptible senior the phrase "Your last basket ball game", "last chapel", "last vespers", nay, even "last cod-fish supper", and you will excite that bruised feeling in the inner regions that may result in tears. "The beginning of the end" is another phrase called to senior lips by the first warm days. This is always given in that mortuary tone equally congruous with tombstones or diplomas. The view from Sun-set Hill, evening talks while drifting about the campus, a glimpse of the muddy waters of Paradise, or hearing the rumble of the college laundry-nothing is too slight or too unpoetic to excite senior sentiment. Forecasts of the future become in order. Letters are sealed and given to particular friends, to be opened at certain times, preferably the eve of engagement announcements. Delightfully impractical plans for practical life-work are discussed, and all this long train of feelings and speculations is called up by the first warm day. There are those in the college who have lamented over the late spring and the long succession of snow storms and slush, but they little realize that the kindly winter has merely been sheltering them from the position of Charles II, who begged the pardon of his court that he took "such an unconscionable time a-dying."

The Editorial Board of 1904 wish to announce the following elections for the year 1904-1905:

Editor-in-Chief, Mary Wilhelmina Hastings.

Literary Department, Bertha Chace Lovell.

Sketch Department, Katherine Hamilton Wagenhals.
Editors' Table, Eleanor Henriette Adler.

Managing Editor, Lucie Aline Tower.

Assistant Managing Editor, Martha Elliot Clay.

Alumnæ Department, Ellen Terese Richardson.

About College, Charlotte Goldsmith Chase.

Treasurer, Isabella Rachel Gill.

Business Manager, Elisabeth Hale Creevey.

EDITOR'S TABLE

As another college year is drawing to its close and the next volume of its history is being prepared for the press, those who are about to become back numbers regard with not a little anxiety the publication of the new issue. It is not in fear for those to whom the work now falls from the tired hands and worn out wit of the old workers, since they, with fresh courage and yet untortured loyalty stand ready and fit to take and carry forward with vigor and enthusiasm that which it shall be theirs to perform. But it is in fear for the condition in which the work is left. Is everything neat and ship-shape? Is there left a place for everything and everything in its place, so that new hands need not waste time in fumbling about and arranging matter which they should have found pigeon-holed, or in correcting the errors of careless predecessors? If such of the affairs of college as have been under the jurisdiction or influence of us, the soon-to-be back numbers, are not as we would have them, ours is the fault and ours the distress of selfreproach.

One of the conditions which it is not wholly satisfactory to contemplate, is the type of lyric prevalent, known as the rally song. This manifestation of effort-how may it be qualified ?-hardly as literary-is like some persons, who are very apt to be offensive yet tolerated because they "mean well." The rally song is in itself an institution of unquestioned merit, but the form of expression which it occasionally assumes is a disgrace to the English language. Fortunately on such occasions as are distinguished by the rally-song, the attendant phenomena are so conspicuous as to take the attention away from the words of the song; but when one has occasion to inspect these one is amazed to find that such words and phrases can find existence in even a comparatively intellectual atmosphere. A class is too dignified a thing, even a freshman class, to be designated "a little