rather belligerent inscription, 'REMEMBER NAPOLEON AT LODI.' On the reverse was the head of an extremely doubtful-looking individual viewing 'his natural face in a glass.' Inscription,--'O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us To see oursel's as others see us.' "The surgeon's equipment is an ox-cart containing jars of drugs (most of them marked 'N.E.R.' and 'O.B.J.'), boxes of homoeopathic pills (about the size of a child's head), immense saws and knives, skeletons of animals, &c.; over which preside the surgeon and his assistant in appropriate dresses, with tin spectacles. This surgeon is generally the chief feature of the parade, and his reports are astonishing additions to the surgical lore of our country. He is the wit of the College,--the one who above all others is celebrated for the loudest laugh, the deepest bumper, the best joke, and the poorest song. How well he sustains his reputation may be known by listening to his annual reading, or by reference to the reports of 'Trotwood,' 'Gubbins,' or 'Deppity Sawbones,' who at different times have immortalized themselves by their contributions to science. The cavalcade is preceded by the 'pioneers,' who clear the way for the advancing troops; which is generally effected by the panic among the boys, occasioned by the savage aspect of the pioneers,--their faces being hideously painted, and their dress consisting of gleanings from every costume, Christian, Pagan, and Turkish, known among men. As the body passes through the different streets, the martial men receive sundry testimonials of regard and approval in the shape of boquets and wreaths from the fair 'Peruvians,' who of course bestow them on those who, in their opinion, have best succeeded in the object of the day,--uncouth appearance. After the ceremonies, the students quietly congregate in some room in college to _count_ these favors and to ascertain who is to be considered the hero of the day, as having rendered himself pre-eminently ridiculous. This honor generally falls to the lot of the surgeon. As the sun sinks behind the Adirondacs over the lake, the parade ends; the many lookers-on having nothing to see but the bright visions of the next year's training, retire to their homes; while the now weary students, gathered in knots in the windows of the upper stories, lazily and comfortably puff their black pipes, and watch the lessening forms of the retreating countrymen." Further to elucidate the peculiarities of the June Training, the annexed account of the custom, as it was observed on the first Wednesday in June of the current year, is here inserted, taken from the "Daily Free Press," published at Burlington, June 8th, 1855.