In Cap and Gown student journal

minded owing to an event of the deepest sadness, till October 20th. No better day could have been selected for the visit of our St. Thomas friends. The sun rose in a soft, silvery air and the last expectant morning dreams of students were touched to joy by the rosy light filtering through fluffy curtains. There was a blush of pleasure on many an honest unshaven face as it reflected the genial glow of the sunrise. Everybody, even Millar and Washburn, got down to breakfast on time; Miss Hodge had been awake and in a flutter at three. As the sun went up the ground puffed out the warm breath of Indian summer, it was almost a question whether the lines of the courts would be clear of moisture by ten o'clock.

A delegation of students met the visitors at the station and brought them up to the college with all necessary stir and circumstance. Some professors had not yet quite relinquished

a desperate purpose of holding lectures, when visitors and students crowded into the halls and rooms with a sickening boom and bang and overpowering roar that crushed all lingering hopes of that nature. Doom spoke in that extended tumult and thunder which raged from Professor Burgess's sacred all northward and eastward past the Provost's open thoroughfare, as far as the Principal's secret bower. A wild, shrill, skirling welcome with pibroch effects arose in No. 6, where the visiting ladies were received. The gentlemen were taken upstairs and everybody "fixed up" in the Resident Tutor's quarters. Professors put away their manuscript, took off their gowns and gave up.

About ten play began though the ground was a little wet. Miss Hotson lost a hard game to Miss Harvey. Messers McGoun and Cornish went against Messers Farr and Warner and after the most frightful exertions took two setts out of three; it was a harrowing and

hair-lifting contest. Dr. Tamblyn pulled out a win from Mr. Jones.

In the second round Miss McMeechan won from Miss Sales, Miss Bland and Mr. Carlisle from - but why go over the story again? Is it not ancient history, and is not ancient history the most forbidding "Bridge of Asses," the most distempered vision that comes into the harassed freshman's dim-lighted mind? Away with ancient history pile Pelion and Ossa upon it, yea pile Laurier's Mountainous majority over it, which is in the vulgar, bury it far down.

It was a dreamy, soothing day. No winds arose, not a dead leaf stirred. The sun burned warm and peaceful. Mr. Newcombe grew poetical and as the day wore on spoke in pentameters as follows: - 'Ah, Jove, how lovely was the rake I wrought Of wood, of hard wood, laboring one whole day, That Varsity turf with white lines might be clear

Raked by strong hands, to Alma's maidens dear." The grammatical relation of the word "dear" is doubtful, and if there is any misquotation, I mean no offence to Mr. Newcombe, especially as I would emphasize that what he said was purely extempore. Wordsworth wrote the same way, Nature as it were holding the pen, and the critics with the jaw-breaking jargon say that he did not always succeed.

Yes, it was a wonderful day, as if a ghost called up by Indian medicine magic from the long days of July. The sun passed through its shrunken course, looking sidelong at our gambols under half-closed lids. It was sentimental weather, the stillness and moist warmth and all. In the afternooon a number of London ladies looked on and basked themselves, and all about the grounds St. Thomas and London mingled in laughing converse. If only our guests enjoyed themselves we were happy, though our tennis

champions should lose. We looked on, our faces wreathed with smiles. It was a dreamy, lotus-eating afternoon.

The victory of Misses Hotson and McMechan was one of the most pleasant and popular events of the day. Before they had won, the soft light was shot with hazy shadows. The moon grew brighter and the sun went with a last broad smile to his own place. By the moonlight the final desparate men's doubles was completed, while guests and students partook of luncheon in the west hall. There was not much more than a dipperful of sherbet left for Messers Carlisle, Jones and Latternell when they arrived, and only three 12 x 4 cakes. Everybody seemed to enjoy the peanut sandwiches, cakes and sherbet; our tired guests were treated to simple fare, but we hope that the sauce of hunger and of good fellowship gave cheer to a board that did not groan

The tables looked very pretty and gay the work of a first-class refreshment committee to whom we all owe very deep thanks: Miss Rowat is strong in domestic science.

Suddently some one remembered the train and it was noticed that scanty time was left to reach the station. The Alma company took hasty leave of Varsity, accompanied by half the college, and the most exciting stores are told of how they boarded the moving train, taking a hasty but hearty leave of their escort, leaping with great skill, though unlawfully upon rear platforms, catching baggage sent after them,. and caught by frowning conductors or brakesmen. So our "sweet enemy" took full time with us, and the last we heard of them was their cry of breathless but cordial farewell.

A wide moon now lit the sky. Ladies could find their way home without help, but did not contemn admiring company. Some

went early to rest, some went to Hallow'e'en parties and the soft, ripe canopy of the Indian summer heavens covered all the dear creatures of earth that worked or played or slept, with moonlight and purple shades. On such a day and such a night men love to live and love. [drawn line]

Sprintings from Field Day. [all underlined] In the ladies 50 yeard Dash (with the accent on the dash) Gabbeo demonstrated than she can made her feet fly as fast as her tongue.

During the progress of the pole vault onlookers found it difficult to make a distinction between the pole and Mr. Cornish.

[bold] Our Patriots.[bold]

The Freshmen fixed their evening Their invitations wrote and then said Mr. Millar I'm going home to vote. [drawn line]

You must postphone it, Freshie, For I'm a man of notes, You cannot do without me, And I'm going home to vote." [drawn line]

In Executive Committee Where things go by rule and rote, Said Mr. Powell - "Excuse me, I'm going home to vote." [drawn line]

Down the stairs came Mr. Shore With his hat and overcoat. "I'm awfully sorrt, ladies,

But I'm going home to vote. [drawn line]

I'd much sooner play some tennis But there's a chance remote They might defeat our candidate If I didn't go to vote." [drawn line]

Of sunny Jim and Cyrus A rumor is afloat That some one heard each saying "I'm going home to vote." [drawn line]

Of course much patriotism These journeys did denote But was that the only reason They all went home to vote? [drawn line]

When the ex-editor first read this little ditty her face assumed a reminiscent look. "That brings to my mind the dying words of Gen. Wolfe," she said "What were they?" I asked with some curiosity. "Gentlemen I had rather take Quebec than be the author of that poem

[bold] Reminiscences. [bold]

When the Editor of "In Cap and Gown" invited me to write for the college magazine I was quite overcome by the honor. But, when she asked me to try a reminiscent strain, and tell the students of to-day about what happened during four years somewhere back in the dim past, when other voices rang through the halls of the Western University and other names shone on the desks and lecture chairs, I felt somewhat like the old lady when her little grandchild, looking at her with wondering eyes, asked, "Grandma, were you ever a little girl?"

But I must to my task and tell you about a time long, long ago, even as far back as the days when the Resident Tutor