"There is one spot where the elms stretch their long arms, not 'in quest of thought,' but as though they would afford their friendly shade to make pleasant the last scene of the academic life. Seated in a circle in this place, which has been so often trampled by the 'stag-dance' of preceding classes, and made hallowed by associations which will cling around such places, are the present graduates. They have met together for the last time as a body, for they will not all be present at the closing ceremony of Commencement, nor all answer to the muster in the future Class reunions. It is hard to tell whether such a ceremony should be sad or joyous, for, despite the boisterous merriment and exuberance which arises from the prospect of freedom, there is something tender in the thought of meeting for the last time, to break strong ties, and lose individuality as a Class for ever. "In the centre of the circle are the Class band, with horns, flutes, and violins, braying, piping, or saw-filing, at the option of the owners,--toot,--toot,--bum,--bang,--boo-o-o,--in a most melodious discord. Songs are distributed, pipes filled, and the smoke cloud rises, trembles as the chorus of a hundred voices rings out in a merry cadence, and then, breaking, soars off,--a fit emblem of the separation of those at whose parting it received its birth. "'Braxton on the history of the Class!' "'The Class history!--Braxton!--Braxton!' "'In a moment, gentlemen,'--and our hero mounts upon a cask, and proceeds to give in burlesque a description of Class exploits and the wonderful success of its _early_ graduates. Speeches follow, and the joke, and song, till the lengthening shadows bring a warning, and a preparation for the final ceremony. The ring is spread out, the last pipes smoked in College laid down, and the 'stag-dance,' with its rush, and their destruction ended. Again the ring forms, and each classmate moves around it to grasp each hand for the last time, and exchange a parting blessing. "The band strike up, and the long procession march around the College, plant their ivy, and return to cheer the buildings."--Vol. XX. p. 228. The following song was written by Francis Miles Finch of the class of 1849, for the Presentation Day of that year. "Gather ye smiles from the ocean isles, Warm hearts from river and fountain, A playful chime from the palm-tree clime, From the land of rock and mountain: And roll the song in waves along, For the hours are bright before us, And grand and hale are the elms of Yale, Like fathers, bending o'er us. "Summon our band from the prairie land, From the granite hills, dark frowning, From the lakelet blue, and the black bayou, From the snows our pine peaks crowning; And pour the song in joy along, For the hours are bright before us, And grand and hale are the towers of Yale, Like giants, watching o'er us.